


solar flare

by CitizenDoe



Series: the setting sun [2]
Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Brendol Hux's A+ Parenting, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Harm, suicide discussion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:08:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28921848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitizenDoe/pseuds/CitizenDoe
Relationships: Poe Dameron/Armitage Hux
Series: the setting sun [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2067270
Comments: 23
Kudos: 41





	1. De Facto

Poe takes Hux straight to Kalonia when they arrive on base. Uncharacteristically, Hux is very quiet, and very compliant. They’d cleaned some of the blood up before they left the shuttle, and walked-slowly towards the medbay. The base was eerie silent, and though Poe knew that this had been planned, it made him uncomfortable.   
Kalonia is waiting for them alone, and there’s no hint of any distaste at having to treat Hux. It’s what Poe’s always liked about her: unrelenting professional moralism. She took the medic’s oath very seriously.   
Hux answers most of her questions with a little prompting, tells her about his shoulder, probable broken ribs, and then she performs some other tests on him.   
Poe watches from the corner, trying not to stare too much, with his arms crossed around himself. He’s worried about looking too concerned and too uncaring all at once.   
“He has a slight fever. And is severely dehydrated and malnourished,” she said, half to Hux and half to Poe, “But the re-nourishment packs should take care off that and any side-effects. We’ll get the medication for the heart condition without any problems.”   
“It’s unnecessary,” Hux said, quietly, “A waste of resources.”  
“No it isn’t,” Poe said.   
Kalonia and Hux both look at him, Hux with a glazed look like he’d forgotten Poe was there.   
“I’ll have to agree with Poe,” Kalonia said, “Take them or don’t, but it’s my duty to provide them to you.”   
“He’ll take them,” Poe says, and Kalonia’s lips turn upwards as she rolls her eyes.   
“Looks like you don’t have a choice,” Kalonia said to Hux, “Any problems over the next couple of days get Poe to call me, okay?”  
Hux barely nods, just stares silently. 

When Kalonia gives him the go ahead, Poe leads Hux along to the communal bathroom.  
“Least there’s water, right?” Poe said, and Hux nods in a vague-eyed, disconnected way that has Poe worrying about concussions again.   
“Are you gonna be okay?” Poe said, and Hux, thankfully, glares at him.   
“Of course,” he snaps, and starts to undress in a defiantly un-self-conscious way.   
“Well, I’m gonna wait over there,” Poe says, “Yell if you need anything.”   
Hux disappears behind the shower curtain and Poe pauses for a couple of seconds before drifting to on the cabinet next to the sink. Wishes he’d thought to bring cigs.   
His eyes droop. He’s so damn tired. He catches his head in his hands and stifles a yawn.  
And he must’ve have fallen asleep, despite fighting it, because he wakes up with a strange, dry-mouthed feeling in a room so full of steam there’s a moment that he thinks it’s smoke.   
“Hux?” He says.   
When there’s no answer he panics that Hux has slipped past him, and he’s really gonna get his ass handed to him. Letting the same person escape twice looks kind of bad.   
Finn would never let him hear the end of it.   
But Hux’s clothes are still there, outside the stall. He approaches the shower, and it’s swelteringly hot, really doesn’t expect Hux to be in there.   
“Shit,” he says, “Fuck,”   
Hux is in the shower, with the water turned as high as it went, staring past Poe like he’s not even there. Poe swears again as the water hits him and scalds as he leans in to turn it off.   
He crouches, waves a hand in front of Hux’s face. He doesn’t blink.   
“Hux?” He says.   
Hux doesn’t react, and if it weren’t for the slow rise of his chest, Poe might think he was dead (and does, actually, check for a pulse - which also doesn’t get a reaction).   
Hux’s skin is red and hot to touch, unhealthily warm, like a full-bodied fever. He has long scratch marks on both arms, blood under his nails.   
“Come on,” Poe says, gets back to his feet and rushes for a towel.  
“Of course I’ll be okay Poe,” he mutters to himself as he throws a towel over Hux.   
“You’re going to have to stand up,” Poe says.   
There are another few seconds of nothing, and Poe shakes Hux’s shoulder. When there’s no reaction Poe finds himself slapping Hux straight across his face.   
Hux blinks, at least, but it’s not a significant reaction.   
Poe feels immediately terrible, touches Hux’s cheek as if he can take the slap away.  
“Please come on,” Poe says, “Or I’ll have to get Kalonia.”   
Hux doesn’t exactly jump to his feet, but he doesn’t resist as Poe pulls on his good arm and steadies him at a stand.   
Poe fixes the towel more modestly around Hux and takes the old overcoat from the discarded pile as the best option as something that might make Hux feel a little more comfortable.   
Hux, though still basically unresponsive, is malleable enough to direct to Poe’s room.   
This was, actually, something he’d been told not to do. Hux was to be taken to a cell, disregarding any attachment Poe had to Hux.   
This, Poe decided, counted as an extraordinary circumstance.   
Poe’s couch is littered with discarded clothes, a battered satchel and an old pair of boots, so he   
sits Hux down on his bed. Poe take the coat drapes it over the back of the couch.   
Poe rifles around in the bathroom for the first aid kid he knows is there, he half-hopes that this was all subterfuge and Hux has found a blaster Poe’s forgotten about and is about to hold him hostage.   
But Hux is still sat on his bed, not even disgusted by the rumpled bed sheets or floor that Poe had been meaning to sweep.   
“Do you mind?” He said, taking Hux’s arm.  
As he’d started to expect, there wasn’t much of a reaction, but Poe didn’t want to leave the scratches as were, even if they weren’t particularly deep. He cleans both arms up with bacta-gel, and then gets back into the bathroom to pick up nail clippers.   
It’s weirdly intimate, maybe even a little invasive, but Poe doesn’t want to risk Hux actually tearing his own arms to shreds.   
Hux remains glassy eyed as Poe snips away at all his nails.   
Poe knows there’s clothes for Hux back as his cell, but is starting to worry about the here and now, because Hux has started to shiver. He seizes the first clean clothes he can find, haphazardly dresses Hux in a shirt that’s too big around the shoulders but far too short in the arms.   
Poe steps back and rubs at his face.   
He’s not used to not knowing what to do. He’s about to send Kalonia a message, searching himself for his comms unit.   
“I need to brush my teeth,” Hux said, making Poe jump.   
“Right. Uh. No problem. You’ll have that in your…room.” Poe can’t bring himself to say ‘cell’ even if it is more accurate, “Unless you wanna borrow my toothbrush?”  
Hux looks disgusted, and Poe relaxes.  
“Are you…” Poe says, and Hux nods, standing so quickly he stumbles. Poe rushes to help him.   
“I’m fine,” Hux snarls.   
“Sure you are,” Poe said, “Let’s go then.”

It’s a short walk to Hux’s room. Poe had made sure of it. They’re not really into the whole prisoner thing on base, so there hadn’t been any real designated rooms for it.   
Hux’s had been a twin room for newer recruits, cleared out and refitted to make it a little more fit for purpose.   
It was fairly basic, but not uncomfortable.   
There was a bed, a desk drilled to the wall with a chair, a toilet separated from the rest of the room by an opaque plastic divide, and a small trunk that contained clothes for Hux, a wash-bag and a canteen.   
Hux doesn’t react much when Poe closes the door behind them, the lock clicking automatically.   
“The tap water is fine to drink,” Poe said, pointing, “There’s stuff in there, you don’t have to change yet but I wasn’t supposed to take you to my room.”   
Poe hands Hux the wash bag, who looks at it as though it was a strange, unidentifiable object.   
“Do I get a razor?”   
“No,” Poe says, “I mean, it’s not that I don’t trust you. But it’s…safety.”   
Hux nods curtly.   
“I can get you mine, if you like,” Poe said.   
“Yes,” Hux said, “Please.”   
Poe jogs back to his room. He’s not pleased with leaving Hux alone, and it takes him a few minutes to find a new razor for Hux. He’d had a whole pack buried somewhere, and he didn’t want to have to hand Hux the slightly rusty one he’d been using for too long now.   
When he gets back, Hux is brushing his teeth, leaning over the sink. He continues for another couple of a minutes, an uncomfortably long time, even adding more toothpaste and starting again.   
The dread feeling appears again, and Poe doesn’t want to have to wrestle a toothbrush away from Hux, because that’s crazy. Thankfully, Hux stops on his own and catches Poe staring.   
He gives Poe a sardonic half-glare and rolls his eyes.   
“It’s been two weeks since I last brushed my teeth,” Hux said, “I’m not crazy.”   
“Didn’t think you were,” Poe lied, and hands the razor over to Hux.   
He knows it’s a risk, but he really doesn’t want to confirm all of Hux’s worst suspicions and fears about how he would be treated by the Resistance.   
Poe sits on Hux’s bed, sorts through the nutrition packs Kalonia had given them, grimacing at the so-called flavours.   
Hux is fairly quick, efficient, and doesn’t make Poe ask him for the razor back, just hands it back to him. Poe promptly returns it to his pocket.   
Hux stands in the centre of the room, looking down at Poe on his bed. He’s clean-shaven, not a spot missed, and Poe genuinely had liked the beard.   
His cheekbones look even more prominent than they had before, and they’d always been sharp.   
“You should have one,” Poe said, pointing to the ‘food’.   
“I will soon,” Hux said.   
There is so much to say between them that Poe doesn’t know where to start, just chews on the words whizzing around his head. It’s like being in an x-wing with no pressure control.   
Poe stands up, eventually, because Hux won’t sit down and he wants to be on the same level as him. Or, near enough.   
He’d sort-off forgotten that Hux was taller than him. It was easy to imagine him as smaller, in his head.   
“I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” Hux said, touching his own arms, “I just wanted to feel clean.”   
Poe reaches for Hux’s hand and squeezes it.   
“Do you?”   
“Not exactly,” Hux said, quietly. He doesn’t take away his hand, so Poe holds it tighter.   
“Leia is off-base right now,” Poe says, “She’ll be back in a couple of cycles. When she is, we’ll meet with her and see where we’re going from there, OK?”   
“Where do you think we’re going?” Hux said, quietly.   
He moved closer to Poe, ducking his head so that his mouth was close to Poe’s neck, breath cold and minty.   
“You can help us,” Poe said, “If you’re willing. You’ll get more privileges. Things will be normal. Mostly.”   
“Normal,” Hux said, in a huffed breath, like he was holding back a laugh.   
Poe smiles into Hux’s hair, brings a head up to it and lets his fingers get tangled. I missed you, he wanted to say.   
He keeps his mouth shut, he’s had the habit of saying the wrong thing in moments like this in the past (not like there was really any moments exactly like this).   
“Thank you,” Hux said, “I didn’t say that, did I?”   
Poe shrugs.   
Hux steps away from him, and then gets to his knees.   
It takes Poe’s brain a couple of seconds to catch up with his dick, because Hux had Poe’s buttons and fly undone before sense comes to Poe and suddenly it seems very wrong.   
“Stop,” Poe said, stepping back and redressing himself.   
Hux gets up off his knees quickly, and narrowed his eyes.   
“Get out,” Hux said.   
A few different things cross Poe’s mind to say, but in the end, he just leaves. 

***

  
He doesn’t stay away. He went back to his own room, used his crappy sonic and led in bed, catching a couple of hours sleep before waking up far too early and feeling far too restless.   
He stops off to grab them both breakfast, practicing in his head what he was going to say Hux. About last night, about their last conversation, about maybe a thousand things that they’d both not being saying. He picks up a spare folding chair on his way, hooking it in the crook of his arm, carefully distributing all that he was carrying so that he can scan the cell door open.   
He drops everything when he realises Hux isn’t there.   
A second later, he rolled out from beneath bed.   
“What the fuck - I thought. What were you doing under there?”   
“Just thinking,” said Hux, “What are you doing here?”   
“Just bringing you breakfast,”   
Hux wrinkled his nose.  
“I am not eating that.”  
“I wasn’t expecting you to eat from the floor,” said Poe, bending down to clean up what he dropped.   
“I’m not hungry, regardless.”   
“Doc’s orders,” Poe said.   
“I had the nutrition paste already,” said Hux.   
He pulled himself to standing.   
“Sounds very appetising,” Poe said, “But they said to make sure you do both.”   
“Are you going to force feed me?”   
“No,” Poe said, quickly, “Of course not.”  
“Then I wouldn’t waste the time,” Hux said, “Or more food than you already have.”   
“I gotta get myself something anyway,” Poe said. He puts the spare chair near the other, “You sure you don’t want anything?”  
“Quite,” Hux said.   
So Poe disappears, grabs himself a couple of donuts, which was less satisfying than his first breakfast, but rushes back, even if he still didn’t know exactly what he was going to say. Being at a loss for words had never stopped him from speaking before.  
Hux is on his feet, stood in the middle of the room with his hands behind his back, dressed in the clothes he had been provided with.   
Poe’s clothes were folded neatly at the foot of the bed.   
“Morning, sunshine,” Poe said, with his best and brightest grin.   
Hux doesn’t say anything, so Poe sits at the table and starts on his breakfast.   
As soon as Poe is settled, Hux starts to prowl about the room.   
“So, why were you on the floor?”   
“As I said, I was just thinking,” Hux said.  
“What’s wrong with thinking on the bed?”  
“I made the bed,” said Hux, “I did not want to mess it up.”   
“Okay,” said Poe, “How’s that fever?”   
Hux rolled his eyes.   
“I forgot you - ”  
“Forgot I?”  
“You’re kind of weird,” said Poe,   
Hux glared at him, halting his pacing of the room.  
“I don’t mean it as an insult,” Poe said, “I like that about you.”  
“I’m not weird,” said Hux, and stands next to Poe, swallowing a couple of painkillers.  
“Is it your shoulder?”  
“Ribs,” Hux said, “How am I weird?”  
“I think we’ve had this conversation before and it ended with you pouting,” Poe said.   
“I highly doubt that,” Hux said, “Why are you here?”   
“I’m eating breakfast,”   
Hux wrinkles his nose.  
“What is that?”  
“It’s a donut, Hux.” Poe said, “Want a bite?”   
Hux bares his teeth and shakes his head, sitting down opposite Poe fluidly.   
“Must you eat it here?”   
“You trying to get rid of me?” Poe said, “Thought I’d keep you some company. I’ve got a training session today, so I won’t be able to spend much time with you.”  
“I don’t expect you to,” said Hux.   
“Why not?”   
“We’re nothing to do with each other.”   
“Is that what you want to pretend?”  
“It’s what you want to pretend.”  
Poe laughs.   
“No,” Poe said, “It’s not.”   
Hux scoffed.   
“It’s entirely understandable,” Hux said, “I can tell them anything you like when they question me.”  
“No-one’s questioning you,” Poe said, “And if they were going to - which they’re not - then I’d want you to tell the truth.”   
Hux looked even more offended with the prospect.   
“You said yourself we were waiting for General Organa to return,”   
“To decide exactly what we’re going to do,”   
“What you’re going to do with me.”   
“Yeah,” Poe said, “But I’m not going to let anyone interrogate you. Or make you do anything you don’t want. I’ll kidnap you, if I have to.”  
“I don’t particularly like the prospect of that.” Hux said, “I’ll take the interrogation. I’m tired.”  
“Why do you think I’d want you to lie about us?”  
“It could harm your career and the way your people think of you,” Hux said, “To have been involved with me.”  
“I don’t care all that much,” Poe said, “I mean, I do, but not to the point of lying about myself. About us.”  
“Is there an us?” Hux said, glancing down at the table, not meeting Poe in the eye, “The last time we spoke…”  
“I said some stupid things,” Poe said, “That I didn’t exactly mean.”  
“And last night?”   
“Neither of us were in the right place for that,” Poe said.   
Hux glances up briefly through his pale eyelashes and then stands.   
He paces back over to the other end of the room, keeping his back to Poe.   
“When I said I cared about you I meant it, and I know it’s not necessarily what you want to hear but right now you are all I care about. And as much as you say there will be no interrogations, I’m willing to assist you in whatever way I am able.”  
“You joining the Resistance, Hux?”  
“I wouldn’t go that far.”

  
* * *

  
Poe’s schedule over the next couple of cycles is busy. He eats breakfast with Hux (he eats breakfast, Hux is still opposed to the idea). Then he sets to his daily jobs. Mostly keeping his pilots in check and trying to delegate without making anyone too suspicious as to why he’s not taking as many missions as usual (they definitely suspect something).   
Poe spends all evening with Hux, and that’s suspicious, too, because he’s never been one to eat dinner alone. Half his pilots think he’s in a secret relationship, and the other half think he’s totally miserable and keep trying to rope him into group activities. Things that are usually pretty hard to turn down.   
But Hux is still officially not there, and Poe can’t leave him locked up alone, not all day.   
Their relationship reverted to something weirdly chaste. Poe brings him a few books, and it takes Hux a full day to tell him that he couldn’t read because his contact lenses had dissolved, and then a few hours to convince Hux to put in a request for new ones, even if they both know they would take, at most, ten minutes to be printed.   
And then Leia returns, and Hux clams up again, refusing to speak all morning.   
“She’s not Snoke,” Poe said, on their way to the meeting.   
Hux stays silent, he does, at least, glower at him when Poe ushers them into Leia’s office without knocking.   
“General Hux,” Leia said, standing as they enter.   
“General Organa,” Hux said, politely.   
“I’m here, too,” Poe said.   
“General Dameron,” Leia said, “I’m happy to see the base in one piece.”   
Hux gives Poe a sideways glance, and Poe considers that he hadn’t actually remembered to tell Hux about the promotion.   
It would’ve sounded like bragging, so it’s probably for the best.   
Poe sits down, Hux waits until Leia gestures at him to follow suit.   
Hux’s knee is shaking, and, without really thinking about it, Poe reaches over and places his hand on Hux’s. He expects Hux to swat him away, but he clutches back instead, and their hands rest on Hux’s thigh.  
“I have to say, General Hux, you’re just about the last officer I thought might defect,”  
“It’s not General anymore, is it,” Hux said, flatly.   
Poe glances sideways at him, watches the throb of his jaw.   
“I suppose not,” Leia said, “I was trying to be polite. Do you remember the first time we met?”   
Hux frowned.   
“Ten years ago?”  
“No, you were very young, with your father,” Leia said.   
Hux shook his head, slowly.   
“I’m afraid not,” he said.   
“Never mind,” Leia said, “I was just curious.”  
Hux met her in the eyes, and Poe got the feeling they weren’t saying something for his benefit, but he kept his mouth closed.   
“Do you mind if I call you Armitage?”  
Hux gave a minute shrug.   
“What are your terms, Armitage?”   
Hux looked at Poe and took his hand away, resting it on Leia’s desk in front of himself.   
“I want a guarantee that you and any other force-users you have lurking around here will stay out of my head. I will consent to standard questioning and share information as I see it to be relevant.”   
“Of course,” Leia said, “Your mind is yours.”  
“I want to be able to leave my cell at least once per cycle in order to exercise, and I would like access to shower. Preferably twice, but one should be sufficient. And I want to be able to visit Dameron, if he is amenable. I will only answer questions from him or yourself or with at least one of you present.”   
“Is there anything else?”  
“You don’t execute prisoners,” Hux said.  
“No,” Poe interrupted, “We don’t,”  
“Hypothetically, if you were to take any other First Order officer or enlisted prisoner, they would not be executed.”  
“Not executed, but if there’s a struggle, our people have to protect themselves.”  
“Of course,” said Hux, “There is nothing else.”  
“I’m surprised,”   
“That I’m not as unreasonable as you expected? I’m sure I could come up with something else.”  
The corners of Leia’s mouth twitched into a small smile.   
“And your terms, General Organa?”  
“Just your co-operation,” Leia said, “While there are those who would have you turned into the Republic, I cannot in good conscience have you put in a situation where you may be subject to execution. You’ll remain here on base, indefinitely.”   
Poe grinned at Hux, whose own face remained neutral, almost cold as he remained facing Leia.  
“I’ve spoken to Rose,” Poe said, “She’s happy for Hux to help her in maintenance. If he wants. With your blessing.”   
That caused Hux to turn to him.   
“I’ll delegate that decision to you,” Leia said, “Is there anything else?”  
Dismissed, Poe and Hux leave Leia’s office in silence.  
“So, where do you want to go?” Poe said, “Gym? Mess? Rec-room? I could take you to meet Rose.”  
“I’d rather you took me back to your room,” Hux said. 


	2. Shield

Poe’s arm lies heavily around his waist, tan and muscled, making him look paler and scrawnier than ever.   
Poe is fast asleep, and Hux is uncomfortable, leg stuck at an awkward, cramped angle and staring at the ceiling, feeling sticky, hot, and sweaty, because when they had finished Poe had rolled over and wrapped himself around him, falling asleep quickly, and Hux had not wanted to ruin it with getting up and showering. The last few cycles Poe had behaved in a way that was practically virginal, and Hux didn’t want to ruin this break in new routine.   
He’d never had this before Poe. Never spent long hours lying bed, touching, lazy.   
Almost of Hux’s trysts had been rough, relatively quick: the only rules he really had was no kissing, no romantic bullshit, and no bites or bruises above where his uniform collar would sit.  
With Poe it was always soft, slow, and he treated Hux like was fragile.   
It would be insulting, if it were anyone else.   
He had spent a lot of time, aboard the _Finalizer_ and now here, committing every millimetre of Poe Dameron to memory. The heavy darkness of his eyes, the way his hair curled and framed his cheekbones, the easy smile. It had always felt very fleeting, having Poe in his bed.  
It seemed as much then as it did now that Poe would suddenly come to his senses and disappear forever.  
He spent so much time watching him that he was able to picture him perfectly from memory, when his eyes were closed Poe’s face was as clear a holofilm.   
Now, after more than an hour of stillness, he was beyond feeling confined, not to mention bored, and he was always at his very worst when he was bored.   
He slipped as gently from underneath Poe as he could manage. He looked like he could use the sleep.   
When he had escaped, Poe rolled over onto his front, not quiet snoring but breathing heavily.   
Hux takes a few seconds to tidy Poe’s rooms. He had been fighting the urge to since Poe had bought him back there a few hours prior, not wanting to make an interfering nuisance out of himself.   
He clears the sofa, folds some clothes, puts them in a jumbled closet and shuts the door on the mess, before he slipped into Poe’s slightly crude refresher (it was better than his - and he was trying to be a gracious prisoner) and into the sonic, which might have been older than them both.   
He’s quick, hovers by the mirror and considering stealing Poe’s razor, but decides that would only cause more of a headache than he already has.  
He touches the bruise on his collarbone.He should hate this, being used and marked, (and really, the more he thought about it, the whole act was disgusting in itself) but it was something about it being the imprint of Poe’s mouth that was comforting.   
He thinks that there must be something deeply wrong with him to not only like it, but to wish it had hurt a little bit more.   
And he was supposed to be the uptight one.   
He dressed slowly, in the sloppy, unstructured clothes - no strings, no laces, and no buttons or zippers either, and he’s not even sure how he’s supposed to be able to hurt someone with a zipper.   
It is mildly insulting, but he does not complain. He tries to push his hair back with a little water, but it does not comply, and he knows it’s not really worth getting fussed about but he can’t help but feel uncomfortable and unlike himself.  
When he leaves the refresher, Poe is awake, lounging on his sofa with the sheets wrapped around him, tapping at an outdated datapad.   
“Morning, sunshine,” Poe said, drowsily.   
“It’s evening, Dameron,” Hux said.  
“Why did you let me fall asleep?” Poe said, “I was going to take you to meet Rose.”   
“I tried to wake you,” Hux lied, “You needed the sleep.”  
“You can talk,”  
“I can.”   
Poe snorted, and carelessly throws the datapad onto the coffee table, where it lands on a pile of papers with a clatter.   
“I cancelled a meeting I had planned in the morning,” Poe said, “I’ll take you then.”  
“You don’t need to do that,” Hux said.   
Poe shifts, leaving an empty space for him to sit beside him, looking up at him beseechingly, patting the seat next to him.   
Hux sat down, fakes a sigh, like being with Poe is some inconvenience and he has anything better to do. Or anything to do at all.   
Poe stretches out again, grinning as he rests his legs Hux’s lap.   
Hux lightly touches the base of his foot, and Poe jolts away.   
“Hey,” he said, “That’s playing dirty.”  
“Are you really surprised?”  
Poe sits up again, and wriggles about still wrapped haphazardly in his bedsheets, and suddenly his head is on Hux’s shoulder, his curls tickling at Hux’s jaw.   
“What is that you want?”   
Hux hopes he knows the answer, even if it means having to shower again.   
“When you called,” Poe said, “After Starkiller base…collapsed. What did you want?”   
“It’s hardly important now,” Hux said, quickly, “I’d thought we’d settled all this.”  
“You were going to turn yourself in, weren’t you? Before I started arguing with you.”  
The truth was, yes, that had been exactly his intentions, but the way Poe was looking at him, with gentle, worried eyes made his stomach knot.   
“It was just as much my argument as it was yours,” Hux said, “If I had been clear from the beginning, it wouldn’t have mattered.”  
“You wouldn’t have been tortured,” Poe said.   
“It was a tiresome excuse for torture,” Hux said, “I’m fine.”   
“You could have died,”   
“Maybe,” Hux said, “Maybe not.”   
“You could have died thinking I didn’t love you,” Poe said.   
If he died right in this second, Hux isn’t sure he would die believing someone like Poe could love him, but he was wise enough not to say this.   
There is something else that Poe isn’t saying, perhaps some topic he’s been told to bring up, because he rarely hesitated to ask the first thing that came into his mind.   
Poe’s face was deeply readable, and he could almost see sentences rearrange themselves in Poe’s mind.   
“What did they want from you?” Poe said, “The guys who took you.”   
“Mostly they wanted to know about shipments of valuable goods,” Hux said, “To hijack and sell. It never would have worked of course, even if I did tell them. The radar systems would have picked them before they even saw our vessels.”   
“They didn’t ask about strategy?” Poe said.   
“They were mercenary criminals, they don’t have sides,” Hux said, “They wanted credits. That’s all.”  
Poe seemed at least half-satisfied, for a few milliseconds.   
“If they weren’t double-crossers,” Poe said, “And they really were going to let you go with me, what would you have done?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Would you still have killed them,” Poe said, “If you didn’t feel you had to?”  
“I did have to,” Hux said, “So it’s a pointless conversation.”  
“They were people,” Poe said, “You didn’t have to kill them, we could have bought them in.”  
“They weren’t people,” Hux said, before he could stop it from slipping out. Poe moved away from him, eyes searching, half-shock, half-disappointment.   
“They _weren’t_.” Hux added, defensively.   
“You can’t think that. The little one was non-human, the one you let go.”  
“As I said, it was a youngling,” Hux said, “However heartless you wish to believe me I don’t _enjoy_ seeing anyone die, regardless of species, and especially not children.”  
“But you don’t think they’re people,” Poe said.   
“They’re not,” Hux said, “And they shouldn’t have to be.”  
“You know how stupid you sound,”  
“I’m not stupid,” Hux said, “You’ll be thinking droids should have a right to citizenship.”  
“Maybe they should,” Poe said, “Is this what it’s really all about? The Order? Humans first, always? Is that why you chose the Hosnian system? Because there were more non-humans than humans?”  
“That was a purely tactical decision, it was the centre of the Republic,” Hux said, “You’ve said that I’m not the only one culpable for what happened, and yet whenever it’s convenient for you I’m the sole proprietor. In ten years time when I shout at you for leaving your socks lying about, will you say, _‘hey,_ I _may be a slob, but at least_ I _didn’t blow up the Hosnian system.’_ ”  
Poe stops frowning and gives him a strange look.   
“You think we’ll be together in ten years?”   
Hux feels his face get warm.  
“That’s really not the point of what I was saying,” Hux said.   
“We might as well get married, then, if you think we’re going to be together so long.”  
“That’s the least romantic proposal I’ve ever had,”   
“You’ve been proposed to?”  
“I’ve been propositioned. You’d be surprised what people would do to get close to power.”  
“Would you?”   
“Would I what?”   
“Marry for power,” Poe said, and smirked, “Would you marry Snoke?”  
Hux does not allow himself to look as disgusted as he feels.  
“Depends on whether or not I’d be expected to have sex with him,” he forces out, and Poe laughs, moves closer to him again, so he’s using Hux’s shoulder as a pillow.   
“Will you?”  
“What now?”   
“Marry me? Hypothetically, in the future,” Poe said.   
“Would you really want that?” Hux said, “Just three minutes ago I was heartless.”  
“I didn’t say that,” Poe said, “You said that. Besides, you’re dodging the question. Don’t think I don’t know that. I’ve been dodging questions since I could talk.”   
“You must have had a lot of practice, as I assume you came out of the womb talking,” Hux said.  
“How’d you guess?” Poe said, “You’re avoiding it again. You can say no, you know.”   
“I don’t think you’re thinking this through properly,” Hux said, “You should marry someone good.”  
“I will,” Poe said, seriously, “In ten years time, when you divorce me for not picking up my socks.”   
Hux tries to smile at Poe, who is watching him with a tilted head.   
“I’m joking,” Poe said, “I’d never let you divorce me. And people aren’t good or bad, they do good or bad things.”   
“Surely you think I’ve done more bad than good,” Hux said.  
“You still have time to do more good,” Poe said, and then, frustratedly, “Armitage.”   
“I’d be a terrible person if I said yes,” Hux said, “So yes, I should think I would want to marry you.”  
“I always wanted to get married,” Poe said, “And I love weddings.”  
“I didn’t agree to a wedding,” Hux said.   
Poe falls quiet, but, characteristically, his silence doesn’t last long.   
“Speaking of things we didn’t agree to,” he said, standing up, immodestly letting his sheets fall off from around him, “I didn’t agree to be your postboy.”  
Poe saunters over to the closet, his brow wrinkles and he rolls his eyes when he sees Hux’s attempt at tidying, and pulls out a package from somewhere behind a tower of old clothes and worn boots.   
He places it on the arm of the sofa that is nearest to Hux.   
“I suppose you want to know what’s in it.” Hux said, “It’s stupid, sentimental junk. I was feeling rather conflicted after our…meeting.”   
“I’m not gonna lie,” Poe said, “It was killing me, not knowing.”  
Hux opened the box and passed it over to Poe, who held it reverently.   
“The scarf was my mothers,” Hux said, “I remember her wearing it.”  
Poe keeps his eyes on Hux, smooths the material between his fingers, reads something in Hux’s face that stops him from asking another question.   
“The drawing?”   
Hux said, “I told you the stuff was stupid. Just something someone drew for me.”   
“It’s not stupid,” Poe said.   
Hux disagreed, but chose to stay quiet and Poe took out the last item.  
“What is this?”  
Poe said holding up the holed stone.  
“A pebble,” Hux said.   
“It’s the same colour as your eyes,” Poe said, “It’s pretty.”  
“You can have it.”  
“No,” Poe said, “You brought literally three things.”  
Hux resisted the eye roll.  
“You can wade half a metre deep in any sea in Arkanis and pick out five of those. In much more exciting colours, too.”  
“This one is the best colour,” Poe said, “I’ll keep it, if you mean it.”  
“I try to avoid saying things I don’t mean,” Hux said.   
“Why did you send this stuff to me?” Poe said, “Did you always think you’d come here?”   
“No,” Hux said, “But I can count on one hand the people I trust. After warning you of our intentions with Starkiller, I knew my movements would be restricted, though I hoped it would be temporary. I also did not intend on ever having to deal with my stepmother again. As I said, I was feeling conflicted.”  
“It’s normal to have things, you know,” Poe said, placing the pebble down carefully, “There’s nothing to be conflicted about.”   
“My father believed that it made one weak to get attached to things,” Hux said, “Or people, for that matter. I don’t think he was necessarily wrong about that one.”   
“That’s bantha shit,” Poe said, “I think being attached to people makes you stronger. Love can make you do things you never thought you were capable of doing.”  
“Or things you never wanted to do,” Hux said, “But it doesn’t matter, now.”   
“Are you hungry?” Poe said, pulling on a pair of sweatpants that he collects from beneath his bed.   
“Not really,” Hux said, tiredly.   
For once, Poe does not press the issue.   
“You mind if I grab something?”   
“Of course not,” Hux said, “Can I stay here?”   
“Sure,” Poe said, “You’re semi-free man now.”  
Hux tried for a laugh, was partially successful. Poe puts a loose shirt on, and leaves, barely appropriately dressed. When the door slides closed behind Poe, Hux takes a look beneath the bed that Poe had produced his clothes from, and then frowns, deciding that broaching the topic of cleaning his room was not worth the inevitable headache. 

***

After Poe eats, they go back to bed, and Hux barely sleeps again.   
He is actually just drifting off when Poe stirs, ready for the morning with such bright, alert eyes that Hux almost forgets his own tiredness.   
It is nice, to be beside someone in the morning, to actually see the waxing brightness of a sun, and a brightness unclouded by a city at that.   
“So, you definitely want to work?” Poe said, cautiously, as they came to a halt outside the room Hux would be working in.  
“Yes,” Hux said, “I’m happy to do it.”   
And so they go inside.   
There’s a fairly short woman inside, clearly waiting for them, thought not impatiently. She gives Poe a friendly smile.  
“Rose Tico,” Poe said, “Mechanic extraordinaire. And some general maintenance work, if she’s feeling kind.”  
“I’m always kind,” Tico said, with a smile, and then she looks at Hux, and her expression is serious, but not necessarily unkind.   
“I’ve gotta go,” Poe said, and he points at them both, “Play nice, both of you. I’ll see you for lunch.”   
He taps Hux on the elbow, briefly, as though he might angle for a kiss, but Hux stays stiff and Poe leaves with a final smile.   
“My sister is dead because of you,” Tico said, with a frown, “But my parents are alive because you warned Poe.”   
Hux searches for the appropriate thing to say in response to such a statement, and lands on nothing at all as being the best option.   
“What I’m saying is, as far as I’m concerned, Poe is _insane_ for bringing you here but as long as you’re helping and not being a total asshole then it’s fine by me.”   
“We agree, then.”   
“On what?” She said, eyes narrowing, arms folded across the chest, giving off the impression she believed she was much taller than she was.  
“That Poe is insane.”   
Her lips twitched.   
“You’re an engineer?” Tico said, straightening her expression again.   
“I was,” Hux said, “But I’m capable of - ”  
“More than designing mega-weapons?” Tico said, “Poe said you were fine with any kind of mechanical work, right?”   
“Yes,” Hux said, “I have significant expereince.”  
“‘Course you do,” Tico said, “He said you didn’t really have any other hobbies.”  
“What else has he told you, out of interest?”  
“It’s more fun for me if I don’t tell you,” said Tico, “How are you with droids? We’ve got a big pile up of droids that some people think are totally out commission but I don’t believe in waste. You can take a look at them, see what can be salvaged.”   
“And then?”   
“Salvage them,” Tico said, with an eye roll, “I’ve got a lot to do.”   
“Are there any that should take priority?”   
“Courier droids are useful, I guess,” she said, “If there are any med droids - I’ve not had time to take inventory. Or do anything useful, really. So don’t bother me unless it’s important.”  
She stalks off, and Hux is grateful to be left alone. 

It is boring work, but it’s something to do that isn’t sitting in a cell waiting for a few hours of Poe’s company.   
Tico wasn’t joking about the big pile of droids: stuffed in a large closet there was, what appeared to be a mass-grave of droids.   
So he doesn’t run out of things to do quickly. Most of the decommissioned droids have some part of them that can be salvaged. If there was anyone to ask, he’d want to know who had let things had out of hand to this degree, but then, disorganisation seemed rather standard for the resistance.   
He finds a droid that is more than a few decades past its best-by-date, the familiar smell of an internal leak of the old batteries scratches the back of his throat. No-one made droids like that anymore, the battery acid was far too corrosive, and a small leak could destroy the wiring in a matter of seconds. But the chassis would be useable with some cleaning, and so he sets himself to that task and ignores the way that time seems crawling on.   
“What’re you doing?” Tico said.   
He’d not heard her approach, but here she was, right beside him.   
She grabs at his wrist, pulling away from the dead-droid’s half-corroded innards and he snatches it away from her.   
“Cleaning,”  
“That’s battery acid,” Tico said.   
“I am aware, yes,”   
“It’s a corrosive,”  
“I’m also aware of that,” Hux said.   
“You should be wearing gloves.”  
“I don’t have gloves,” Hux said, “It wasn’t important enough to bother you with.”  
“This is the exact sort of thing I meant for you to bother me with,”   
Hux opens his mouth to argue, but decides against it and goes to wash his hands at the nearby sink. The door creaks open.  
He tries not to be so happy when he sees Poe.   
“Tell your boyfriend he’s an idiot,” Tico said.   
“Usually it’s the other way around,” Poe said, “It’s kinda our thing. Why does it smell like vinegar?”  
Tico lets out an irritated sound, and Hux wipes his hands on a towel.  
“Because he - ” she points to Hux, “Thinks it’s a good idea to burn his own hands off rather than ask for gloves.”   
A worried frown flitters across Poe’s face, and Hux hates himself for having caused it.   
“I’m fine,” Hux said, “It’s a very mild corrosive.”   
Poe moves around the table, closer to Hux, and takes one of his hands, which are only slightly pink with irritation.   
“I’m going to eat lunch,” Tico said, and then, over her shoulder with a sigh, “Try not drink anything toxic.”   
“You know I think she likes you,” Poe said, elbowing him playfully, “I came to take you to lunch.”  
“I don’t want lunch,” Hux said.   
“You didn’t have breakfast, or dinner last night,” Poe said. Hux makes a move to drive the heel of his hand to rub his eyes, but stops midway. That really would be ill-advised, even after washing his hands.   
“I can bring something here,” Poe said, “If you’d prefer not to go to the mess. Maybe it’s all a bit much.”   
Hux nodded, though he truly felt too het-up to eat, Poe would likely only worry if he refused further feedings.   
He clears a space for Poe to eat.   
“You know, I have your gloves, actually,” Poe said, when he comes back with a tray of too much food for two people.   
“You do?” Hux said, flatly.  
“Yeah,” Poe said, “And your coat. I kept them back. I mean, technically, I wasn’t supposed to let you have brought anything.”  
“It’s a reasonable rule.”   
“But not one that technically applies anymore,” Poe said, “Seeing as you’re helping. I mean we’d have to take any First Order insignia from the coat. But you can have it back.”   
Hux nods, too tired to be truly grateful, and tears up some bread, which is the only food he recognises enough to feel comfortable eating.   
“I’m glad you’re here,” Poe said, “I’m glad we’re here.”  
After Poe leaves Hux gets back to work. He hopes to avoid having another conversation by abandoning the leaking droid and sets on saving the useful wires from a different droid and organising them by size. 

“Here,” Tico said, she places down a steaming mug in front of him, “Poe said you like tea. It’s not that nasty tarine stuff but I thought it would do.”   
“Thank you,” He said, eyeing the dark green liquid, with, admittedly, a little suspicion.   
“Thanks for helping out,” Tico said, “There’s a kettle and tea in my office. You can help yourself, when you want. OK?”   
He nodded, and thanked her again, and she wandered off into her office once more. 

***

To say that he _settled_ into a new routine would be greatly exaggerating his comfort on the Resistance base, but the existence of a discernible routine, at least, was a kind of comfort.   
Officially, he does not have guards, but he is not technically allowed to go anywhere by himself. He considers the point of them if they are unarmed, but does not bring it up.   
Alder is a tall pilot who runs with him in the mornings. Poe is not much of a distance runner, and so he had found someone else to do that for him, because Hux wasn’t allowed inside the base without company, let alone to run the perimeter. Alder does not like him, but she does like Poe, and she likes running.   
“I do it anyway,” she had said, with a shrug, the first morning.   
They don’t speak much, and Hux is grateful for that, that she doesn’t pretend.   
“Are you ready?” She’ll say, when they leave in the morning, and, “Are you ready to go back?” When they’ve ran their usual stretch.   
Some mornings they stay out longer than others.   
“You’re both crazy,” Poe had said, when Alder deposited him back at Poe’s room, after they had ran their semi-regular 10k.   
“No,” Alder had said, taking a glass of water from him, “You’re lazy.”   
She rolled her eyes conspiratorially at Hux, and he hoped his returning smile looked genuine. Hux had always liked running, because it was just about the only thing that entirely cleared his head. Engineering and designing had worked like that for a long while, before Starkiller, until it had become his job, and his enjoyment of the thing somewhat soured.   
Besides, he had always told himself the running balanced out his smoking habit and his generally negative attitude towards other forms of exercise (not that Phasma had ever let him avoid the gym for long).   
When Hux has showered and Poe has eaten, Poe takes him to Tico and he works.   
Poe will always bring him lunch, at the same time every day, which he doesn’t imagine is something Poe is used to. He is not the type for scheduling. They’ll go outside to smoke, afterwards, and that’s good, because it had always had a de-stressing effect on Hux.   
The three days Poe leaves for a mission that he doesn’t give Hux any details about, and that Hux doesn’t ask for, are miserable. Alder still runs with him, he still works with Tico, but he has no-one to smoke with and no-one to talk to.   
The first couple of weeks had made him too complacent: he had forgotten what it was like to not have anyone who liked him.   
When Poe comes back it was somewhat like he’d not been anywhere, and the routine slips easily back in place, even with the underlying, disquieting knowledge that there will be a time where Poe goes away for longer stretches, the feeling makes Hux’s palms itch with the desire to hurt, and he ignores it, and asks Poe if they can for another cig.   
Poe finds him new clothes, now that the restrictions have been lifting on what he is allowed to wear (admittedly, it would be amusing to think that they would not allow him laces in his boots but would allow him access to an untold number of tools). None of them are particularly well fitting and he’s not comfortable, but he has barely been out of uniform for nearly twenty years.   
The clothes are fit for purpose, cool in the warm weather, and fit better than Poe’s, so he hasn’t got much to complain about other than pure, petty preferences. 

Tico mostly leaves him to himself, but not in a rude way. She’ll tell him, every morning, what she wants him to do, and then she lets him get on with it whilst she does her own work.   
It was almost pleasant.  
She brings him tea, at least once a day, because he doesn’t quite have the impertinence to actually help himself.   
She dropped the tea on the table in front of him, and lingers, one afternoon.   
“How much do you know about X-wings?”   
“Not much, I’m sorry,” he admits, half-expecting her to be irritated with him, but she shrugs.   
“You can learn,” she said, “I need an extra pair of hands.”  
“There aren’t many mechanics here,” Hux said, partially to himself.   
“Tell me about it,” she said, “Most of the pilots know their stuff for basic maintenance, but for big jobs…well, there’s me, two other guys and now you. And since…well, lately, I’ve taken on some admin work, too, and gone and agreed to babysitting. I suck at saying no.”   
She paused, looked him up and down.  
“You’re the last person I want to be moaning to about this stuff,” she said, “At least I got the office to go with the admin work.”  
He supposed there was something else to be said to that, but he doesn’t think of it in time and she leaves. 

  
Hux almost never goes back to his assigned cell. Or, as Poe calls it, his room, though they are both aware of what it is.   
There’s something wrong with Poe, too, and it takes Hux an embarrassingly long time to figure out what it is, when he realises the conspicuous absence both physically and from conversation of the ex-stormtrooper that had escaped with Poe.   
They’d not long had dinner. Poe is lying back on his bed, a datapad resting on his stomach, but he’s not actually looking at it, when it hits him.   
“Where is your friend?”  
“I’ve got a lot of friends,” Poe said, “Which one?”  
The stormtrooper. Ex-stormtrooper. Traitor? No, he was a traitor, too.   
“Finn.”   
Poe grinned.   
“You don’t have to say his name like you don’t mean it,” Poe said.   
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”  
“He gone to find himself,” Poe said, “I haven’t heard from him in a couple of days, actually.”  
“That’ll explain the expression on your face.”   
“What expression?”  
“You look lost,” Hux said, “And bored. You don’t have to spend all of your free time with me. I’m aware I’m not very exciting.”   
“I think you’re plenty exciting,” Poe said, unconvincingly, “When you get settled, things will be better.”  
“You mean you won’t be obliged to spend so much time with me,” Hux said, “I don’t mean that as a slight, by the way, I do appreciate the company. You should spend time with your friends, however. You are a General now, and isn’t your lot big on morale?”  
“Technically, they’re your lot, too, now,” Poe said, “Can I tell you something?”  
“Regardless of my answer, I am sure you will anyway.”  
Poe hits his arm.   
“You’re gonna think I’m an asshole,” Poe said.   
“Going to?”   
Hux had been aware that Poe had wanted to tell him something for at least a week now. He knew the long looks, the way he’d start a sentence and then change it halfway through. He’d wanted to ask Poe about how had died on Starkiller base since he’d got there, but had never found the words. As long as he didn’t see the list, he could pretend that Phasma was still alive.   
Broaching the topic of the First Order had never ended particularly well in the past, either. What if Poe thinks he only wants to look because he’s looking for surviving allies?   
Is that what he wants?  
“Yeah, yeah, keep working on that comedy routine, Hugs,” Poe said, “I didn’t want the General position.”   
Hux tightens his jaw, the sentiment catches him off-guard.   
“Excuse me?”  
“See? You look mad at me. I’m not a high-command type person,” Poe said, with a half-smile, “I don’t know if you’ve noticed that one. I’m not like you, or Leia. It’s so much political crap, right?”  
“Yes, being a general demands one must put up with political crap.”  
“And the paperwork. I - I don’t mind being a commander, I liked that, it was plenty for me. I like flying and I like training people. But…”  
“I can emphasise, being a General failed to live up to my own expectations,” Though in his case, it was more the lack of power than having too much of it, “Why did you accept the promotion?”  
“Leia thinks I can succeed her, if anything happens to her,” Poe said, “I’m not that kind of leader. I just didn’t want to disappoint her. I’ve looked up to her since I was a kid.”   
There is nothing that seems comforting for Hux to say, not even in his head.   
“I suppose I can get you to write my speeches,” Poe said, “You write what you think, and I’ll say the opposite.”


	3. Dies Non Juridicus

Poe gets back from what should have been a single overnight mission that had turned into four long days to find Hux in the hangar. Not waiting for him - he’d not been able to communicate directly with Hux - but working with Rose.   
He sends BB-8 ahead to his charging port and though he’s exhausted, and he’s un-showered and extremely hungry, he pauses to watch Hux and Rose, a little way aways. They’re talking softly, or Rose is, clearly instructing him what to do, and he works diligently, sleeves pushed up and hair falling in his eyes as he leans over to get a look at something that Rose was pointing out on the underbelly of an x-wing that had been out-of-commission for weeks.  
“Hey,” Poe shouts and they both turn, “Where’s my welcoming party?”  
“That would imply you were welcome,” Rose called back.   
He hugs her first, when he reaches them, mostly because he’s aware that hugging generally isn’t Hux’s preferred method of greeting, and more so in public.   
“Can I steal him from you?” Poe said.   
Rose shrugged, “If he wants to be stolen. We can do this anytime.”  
“Do you want to be stolen?”  
“I don’t have any objections,” Hux said, quietly.   
Hux wipes grease from his hands, and then follows Poe along the corridors in quiet.   
“You missed me?” Poe says, mostly to break the silence.  
“Of course,” Hux said.  
Poe unlocks his door and leads them in.   
Hux pauses in front of him, stares down at him. The door closes behind them, and Poe steps forwards, and finally pulls Hux forward in greeting.   
“Hug for my Hugs,” he said.   
“Maybe I didn’t miss you, actually,” Hux said, “When was the last time you showered?”   
“Five days ago,” Poe said, stepping back and peeling his t-shirt off.   
“It smells like six,” Hux said, “Is…”  
“Is?”  
“Are you alright?”  
“Tired. Hungry, my neck hurts,” Poe said, “Missed you. But I’m OK.”   
“I suppose it’s need to know?” Hux said, “Tico said you’d been delayed but didn’t offer any explanations.” Strictly speaking, Hux really wasn’t supposed to know anything that wasn’t directly involved with whatever he’d been told to do. Poe was pretty sure no-one actually expected him to keep things from him.   
“I just had to re-route,” Poe said, “Twice.”  
Hux nodded, vague look on his face.  
“Do you need me for anything?”  
“You’d rather be working?”  
“Not necessarily,” Hux said, “I was just wondering.”  
“I just need you,” Poe said, “I sleep better when you’re around.”  
“You want me to watch you sleep?”  
“You’ve done it before,” Poe said, “You could always, I don’t know, fall asleep, too.”  
“What a terrible idea,” Hux said, “How dare you.”  
Poe grinned, slipped inside his refresher. He spent a little while in the sonic, longer than he really needs to, and when he leaves Hux is on his couch, reading.   
“What’s that?”  
“Mechanics,” Hux said, “Tico gave it to me. As I am not allowed to live in the present and use a datapad.”  
“You know why,” Poe said.   
“I know why,” Hux said, “I am still going to complain about it.”  
“Can you read it in bed?” Poe said.  
Hux nods, puts the book down on Poe’s bedside table, and they lie down together, arranging their bodies as neatly as they can manage to be comfortable and touching still allow Hux to read.  
“I don’t mean to be needy,” Poe said, “Haven’t had anyone to touch in days.”  
“You want just anyone?” Hux said.   
“You’re my first choice,” Poe said, yawning.   
Hux’s arms tighten around his waist, his fingers slip beneath Poe’s t-shirt and he strokes his ribs gently.  
“Don’t let me sleep too long? I won’t sleep tonight,”   
“I won’t,” Hux said, “I’ll wake you up when I get bored of watching you sleep.”

**

Poe wakes up, suddenly, with cold water tickling at his face, and an excited flurry of beeps as he frowns and lazily wipes the water away.   
He groans, screws his eyes shut tighter, and hears a few more beeps of encouragement when there’s a more substantial downpour.   
He opens his eyes, and he’s sure BB-8 is laughing at him.   
Hux is kneeling on the floor, a small smile on his face, BB-8 beside him.   
“Who’s idea was this?” He said, tiredly, using a sheet a wipe his face.   
“I’m offended. Do you think I take orders from droids?” Hux said, at the same time the BB-8 beeped credit for the idea.   
Poe sits up fully, and sniffs, the smell of hot caff hitting his nose.   
“Mine?” Poe said, pointing.   
“Of course,” Hux said.   
“Where’d you get it?”  
“I asked BB-8 to ask Tico,” Hux said, “I told her it was your request so I expect she’ll give you a lecture tomorrow on how she is not your personal lackey.”  
“Fantastic, thanks, Hugs,” Poe said, sipping gratefully.   
“Anytime,” Hux said.   
BB beeps.   
“Thanks, BB-8,” Poe said, “You finished charging? You know you’ll fry your power cells.”  
BB beeps blame for Hux, who rolls his eyes.  
“You’re a bad influence on my droid, Hugs,” Poe said, “Go charge properly.”  
Hux gets to his feet as BB speeds away, too quickly for a droid running on a power deficiency.   
Hux sits back down next to Poe.   
“I hate to say it now that you’re awake, but I am quite tired now,” Hux said.   
Poe holds out his caff to Hux, who shakes his head in refusal.   
“I can think of a few other things that will keep me awake,” Hux said, “If you’re willing.”  
“I’m always willing,” Poe said, getting to his feet.   
He rolls his shoulders and stretches, trying to loosen up his stiffening muscles.  
Poe drains the caff and discards the cup and Hux gets to his feet.  
“I feel like it’s been weeks,” Poe said, as he nuzzles into Hux’s neck, lightly kissing at it.  
“You don’t have to be so gentle,” Hux said, “I’m not going to break.”   
“I don’t know about that,” Poe said, and circles Hux’s skinny wrist with his fingers overlapping.  
“I’m not nearly as weak as I look,” Hux said.  
“I do know that,” Poe said.  
“You asked me once, if I got tired of telling people what to do,” Hux said, “Well, I did. I do. So, you tell me what to do.”   
“Uh, lie down and let me love you?” Poe said, “You’re serious? I’m not opposed to this. As long as it’s what you actually want.”   
“I wouldn’t ask for what I don’t want,” Hux said.  
Poe’s fingers slip from Hux’s wrists to his down his long, pale fingers.  
“I know you wouldn’t,” Poe said.  
“Hurt me.”  
Poe gently runs his thumbs along the pads of Hux’s. He knows what it means, the scars on his palms. He knows what it means that Hux forgets to take medication or forgets to eat, because Hux never forgets anything. And he knows what it means that Hux will let a cig burn out too closely to his bare hands.  
He won’t be a proxy for Hux to hurt himself.  
“Please,” Hux said, “Please.”  
His accent loses the clipped quality, softening around word the please, and though he’s the one begging, Poe’s the one who feels almost and ironically impotent at the word.   
He’s rubbing at the long-ago but badly healed scar tissue. Hux catches his eye.   
“It’s not about that,” he said, “I can’t help what I like.”  
Poe drops Hux’s hand, watches the way Hux sets and unsets his jaw. Considers slapping him, not too hard, hard enough to make a sound, across his face, and feels a tightness in his lower belly.  
“Are you worried you’ll like it?”   
Poe hates that sometimes, Hux might as well actually be a mind reader.   
So he gives in, reaches out and takes Hux by the hair (he has always wanted to do that) and pulls him, roughly, towards his mouth, driving him into a deep kiss.   
It’s soft and slack at first, but then he takes Hux’s bottom lip between his teeth and pulls, watches Hux’s face for a reaction. There isn’t much of one, so Poe bites down harder.   
Hux steps back, his lip bleeding, for a second Poe thinks it was too hard, but Hux smiles at him, places his hands on Poe’s face and pulls Poe back closer.   
Poe’s lips fall onto Hux’s and then down, kissing at his jaw and neck.   
“What do you want?” Poe said, his hands at Hux’s pants button.  
Hux sighed.  
“You,” Hux said, “To tell me what you want.”

Poe slips his hand into Hux’s pants, rubs at him through the underwear.   
“Is this what you want?”  
“Yes,” Hux said, with his eyes closed.  
Poe retracts his hand and Hux opens his eyes.   
“Don’t stop,”  
“You know for someone who wants to be told what to do you sure are bossy,” Poe said.   
Hux scoffs.  
“Get on the bed,” said Poe, “On your back.”  
Hux obliges, and Poe follows after him, discarding his t-shirt to floor. He straddles Hux, his fingertips at his shirt buttons. Lightly, at first he kisses along Hux’s collarbone, and then hardens his teeth against Hux’s shoulder blade.  
“Do you want this?” Poe said, raising his head  
Hux nods, pushes Poe’s head back down to his chest.  
“Do you want me inside of you?”  
“Yes,” Hux snaps.  
“Say please,” Poe said, and taps at Hux’s mouth with his index finger, running it along his lips like a secret.  
“Please,” Hux said, impatient.  
Poe reaches towards bedside table, for the draw that contains the lube.   
He thinks at first he’s just hit the table against the wall when he shut the draw, until he hears the knock again, and he starts, hitting his head against Hux’s as Hux sits up too quickly.   
“Fuck,” Poe said, rubbing his forehead.  
“Poe?”  
“It’s Finn,” Poe says, quietly, sitting back on his knees.   
Hux’s face remains blank.   
“Get it then,” Hux said, sliding from the bed and buttoning his pants.   
“Are you sure?” Poe said, already making a move to dress quickly.  
Hux doesn’t answer, just goes to sit on the couch, holding the book Tico gave him.   
Poe thinks of what it might be like to be able to turn so cold so quickly. It’s almost impressive.   
Poe checks himself before opening the door, unable to shake off the obvious mid-coital look as quickly as Hux seemed to, because Hux looks like he could have been sat reading a book about mechanics all night.  
He wonders what it must look like to Finn, a rapidly bruising mark on his forehead and Hux’s still bleeding lip.   
Behind him, Hux snorts with suppressed laughter and it’s all it takes to start Poe laughing.  
“OK,” says Finn, “Is there like a gas leak or something…”  
“No,” Poe said, “It’s fine. I uh, how are you?”   
Poe doesn’t wait for an answer, put pulls Finn into a big hug, clapping his back and hanging on.   
“I’m good,” Finn said, “You miss me?”  
“Of course. Do Jedis hug?”  
“Don’t care, not a Jedi,” Finn said, and finally pulls away, “I was gonna see if you wanted dinner? He can come.”  
“Thank you for your offer,” Hux said, carefully, “But Poe was just going to escort me back to my room. Then he’s all yours.”

  
***

Poe feels a little guilty about kind-of unceremoniously dumping Hux back at his room, especially after having been gone for a few days, but not quite guilty enough to not visit Finn.  
They settle themselves into the quietest corner of the mess, sitting across from one another. Poe had thought about getting Finn to invite Rose, but again, a little selfishly, he was happy that it was just the two of them again.   
“How long have you been back?” Poe said, when they sat down with their food: an assortment of junk. Finn had found the food at Luke Skywalker’s hermit-cave lacking, and Poe had mostly been eating with Hux, who was very judgemental about the contents of food for someone so generally unhealthy.   
“Couple hours,” Finn said, “I spoke to Leia, showered. Thought about napping but couldn’t get settled. Leia said you’d had some trouble?”  
“A little,” Poe said, “I don’t know how they knew where we were gonna be, but they did.”  
Finn stabs at a slab of steak.   
“Haven’t you asked him?”  
Poe shakes his head.  
“He’s been away too long,” Poe said, “He left after Starkiller base…”  
“After we blew it up, you mean,” Finn said, “He know that was you?”  
“Yeah,” Poe said, “You really wanna talk about him?”  
“No. I want to talk about you,” Finn said, “But it looks like you two come as the worst possible package deal.”  
“He’s on his best behaviour,” Poe said, “He’s been helping. I’ve been great, obviously, even, you know, when my best friend flew off into the sunset with the first pretty girl he met to learn to be a Jedi with her.”  
“She’s not the first pretty girl I met,” Finn said, “And I said, I don’t want to be a Jedi.”  
“Did you at least get a lightsaber out of it?”   
Finn smirked, “That’d be telling.”  
“Oh, now you’re a force-user you’ve got secrets,” Poe said, “Too special to share with a lowly force-null like me.”  
Finn kicks him under the table.   
“How’s Rose?” Finn said.   
“You haven’t seen her yet?”  
“No,” Finn said, “You and Leia. How is she?”  
“She’s fine,” Poe said, “Hux has been working with her.”  
Finn blinks his surprise away.   
“She hates him as much I do,” Finn said.   
“She’s better at hiding it, then,” Poe said, “It’s just work. Drink your water.”  
“Why?” Finn said, raising the glass to his lips.   
Poe reaches into his back pocket and shakes a small flask.   
“You’re a terrible General,” Finn said, “Seriously?”  
“But a great smuggler,” Poe said, serving them quickly.   
“So, you’re staying?” Poe said.  
“Yeah,” Finn said, “Didn’t get what I wanted out of it. Rey stayed. She’s a little less disillusioned than I am.”  
“Disillusioned?”  
“It’s not right, the Jedi stuff,” Finn said, “I - I get that it’s important to some people. It’s important to Rey. But…it’s just so wrong.”  
“How so?”  
“It drives people crazy,” Finn said, with a shrug that said duh. “Even Skywalker knows it. Especially him.”  
“It doesn’t have the best record,” Poe admits, “What’re you going to do?”  
“I’m going to find a better way,” Finn said, “No emotional-repression, and no hatred, either. The force can’t be that binary. Reality isn’t.”  
“No, it’s not,” Poe said, and pours them both out another shot, “Fuck the Jedi.”  
“Fuck the Jedi, and fuck the Sith,” Finn said, and clinked each others glasses.

**

Poe has vague memories of going to Hux’s room. After they’d eaten, Poe and Finn had gone off to find Rose and had ended up drinking more, playing a few games of cards.   
When he wakes up, the room is jarringly vacant. Poe’s got a splitting headache, and a bit of a blank memory.   
It’s kind of inexplicable that he would come to Hux’s room, as it was much further away than his own.   
And Hux should be there now.   
He pushes down the nausea, assumes that Hux was simply following his usual routine pristinely.   
Regardless, after showering he heads towards Rose’s workshop, just to make sure Hux hasn’t actually disappeared.  
Hux is there, but more surprisingly he’s accompanied by three children. Poe recognises two of the kids, a brother and sister, whose parents are both medics, and he knows well, and a blonde girl he doesn’t know. The sister, Nova, wants to join the Resistance as a pilot. She’s barely eleven and Poe hopes it she never has to.  
The kids are stood beside Hux, who is drawing something.   
“Poe!” Nova said, skirting around the table and hugging him.   
“Hey,” Poe said, “What’re you all doing?”  
“Look!” said Nova’s little brother, Bran, holding up a small metal mouse, “His name is Scraps! Armitage made him for me.”  
“He’s making me a cat,” said Nova, going over to poke her smaller brother, “To eat your mouse.”  
“No he’s not!”  
“He is,” said the blonde girl, “He promised.”  
“I did no such thing,” Hux said, irritatedly, but the corners of his mouth twitched, “I said I’d show you how to build a small droid.”   
“You built his,” Nova said, pulling at his shoulder.   
Poe catches the uncomfortable look pass across his face, but he smiles tightly.   
“He is four,” Hux said, “You’re older and certainly clever enough to do it yourself.”   
“Can I speak to you?” Poe interrupted, “It’ll only take five minutes.”  
Hux nodded and started to put away his pencils.   
“Have you finished my picture?” Bran said.  
“I’ll finish it when I get back,” Hux said, “Why don’t you all go see if Rose has anything for you to do?”  
Bran pouted, but Nova took one of his hands and one of the blonde girl’s hands and led them off to Rose’s office.  
“Mouse droid? Very funny,” Poe said.   
“It’s barely a droid,” Hux said, “I didn’t waste too much time on it.”   
“It’s okay if you did,” Poe said, “It’s nice that you’re looking after the kids.”  
“Tico asked me to,” Hux said, “I’d really rather not.”  
“They like you,” Poe said, “Nova and Bran are good kids.”  
“Yes, they are,” Hux said.   
Poe leads him outside and a little way away from the base.   
“Who’s the other girl?”   
“Hana,” Hux said, “Her parents died, so she lives with Nova now.”   
“Oh,” Poe said, “I didn’t know that.”  
“She and Nova have already decided they’re twins,” Hux said, “They’re inventing a language.”  
Poe laughs, “And Bran?”  
“Not in the club,” Hux said, “Do you have any cigs?”  
Poe hands them over to Hux, refuses one for himself, and they walk on, a little further away than usual, until the reach a small battalion of trees.   
“So, how long have you and Rose been running this daycare centre?”  
“The week before you left,” Hux said.   
“You didn’t say,”   
“It was mostly Tico.”  
“What is it you were drawing?” Poe said.  
“An X-Wing. Yours. Bran asked me to. He wants to colour it in,” Hux said, distastefully.   
“Yeah, kids like colouring,” Poe said.  
“It seems pointless,”  
“And yet you’re drawing something for him to colour in,”  
“For my own peace and quiet,” Hux said, “I asked him what I could do that would quiet him.”  
Poe laughed.   
“You’re the worst,” Poe said.   
“Yes,” Hux said, “But you’re stuck with me now. Is this what you wanted to talk to me about?”  
“Where’d you go this morning?”  
“I did what I always do,” Hux said, shortly, “Alder and I went for a run and then I asked her to take me to the workshop as you were still sleeping.”   
“Did you sleep at all last night?” Poe said, watching him take a long drag on the cig. He looked tired - or, more tired than usual. Hux always somewhat had the look of a life-long insomniac about him.   
“No,” Hux said, “You were in my bed.”   
“Right, sorry,” Poe said, “I’m sure you could’ve squeezed in.”  
“I can’t stand the smell of alcohol,” Hux said, stopping at leaning against a tree, “Is that all you wanted?”  
“Are you mad at me?”  
“No,” Hux said, “Of course not. I would just appreciate it if you didn’t do it again.”  
“Get drunk?”  
“Drink whatever you like,” Hux said, “Just don’t come to my room.”  
“I’m sorry,”  
Hux shrugged.   
“I need to go back now,” he said, “You’ll come for lunch?”

**

Poe returns at lunch, exactly at the usual time, not even a millisecond late. Hux is, as usual, waiting for him, and Poe is curious at how he seems to know what the time is despite not having a chrono available to him or anywhere on display.   
His smile is tight when Poe comes in, and he wonders if that is because Rose is stood just a few feet away, rolling up spools of wires, or because he really is mad at Poe.  
Poe unpacks, a simple coconut rice and spiced meat dish, actually one of Poe’s old favourites (at least, of the food that doesn’t come Yavin 4).   
He tells as much to Hux, assures him that he’ll probably like it, too.   
“You dumbass, Dameron,” Rose said, laughing from her corner.   
Poe opens his mouth and closes it again in mock offence.   
“What’ve I done now?”   
“He doesn’t eat meat,” Rose said, pointing at Hux, “You really never noticed?”   
“I - ” Hux starts, but Poe interrupts.   
“She’s right. You always give it to me,” Poe said, “Why didn’t I notice?”   
“It’s ‘cause you wanted his food,” said Rose, sitting down next to Hux, “You really haven’t told him you’re a vegetarian?”  
“I’m not,” Hux said, “It’s not a bother. I eat it when it is necessary. It certainly isn’t because I have any misplaced morality about eating dead animals.”   
Tico snorted.  
“No, I didn’t think you’d suddenly grown a bleeding heart,” she said, “But there are no-meat options. I don’t eat meat.”   
“Of course you don’t,” Hux said.   
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Poe said.  
Hux glares, unfairly, at Rose.  
“I’m hardly in the position where I can make demands of the type of food I’m given,” he said, “It’s immature to turn one’s nose up at perfectly edible food.”  
Poe pulls at his own hair. “You’re kidding,” he said, “Aside from that, you could’ve told me anytime before. We’ve eaten together lots of times.”  
“It’s not important,” Hux said, and stands, “I’m not hungry and I have plenty of work to do.”

***

Poe had booked a slot in the smaller community kitchen, used for group meals opposed to the larger, almost always bustling mess kitchen.   
It had been more work luring Hux out of Poe’s room than it had been booking the kitchen on short notice (he did now, however, owe more than a few favours).   
“We’re going on a date,” Poe had cheerfully informed him, the morning after he’d found out he’d been serving Hux food he hated for weeks.   
“A date?” Hux had repeated, a displeased look on his face.   
But he’d agreed, with only a little cajoling.   
He didn’t think Hux would enjoy that very much. If Poe is being completely honest with himself, he doesn’t know if Hux would enjoy any of this at all, but he wants to kind-of-apologise for not noticing Hux’s aversion to meat.   
It would be nice to eat outside of the confines of his room, and aside from that, Poe likes cooking, hasn’t done it since visiting his Dad.  
It’s kind of a selfish date idea.  
“You bought me on a date to a kitchen?” Hux said, when they step inside.  
“I thought we could make food,” Poe said, “Meat-free food. And then eat it. Romantically.”   
“Hm,” Hux said, “I can’t cook.”  
“Everyone can cook,” Poe said, “Have you cooked?”  
“No.”  
“Ever?”  
“No. I’ve never cooked,” Hux said, quietly, “I have never needed to.”  
“Right,” Poe said, smiling, “My dad was the cook in our family. He loved it, would spend hours in the kitchen while my mom was at work and I was at school.”  
Poe has more to say, but he cuts himself off, and watches Hux stand awkwardly in the corner of the kitchen, and thinks maybe it’s not exactly thoughtful to talk about his childhood.  
“Sorry,” he said, “Don’t mean to ramble on.”  
“You can talk about your father, Poe,” Hux said, “I like to hear about your family.”  
“Really?” Poe said, “Dad’s kind of got an obsession with feeding people. He thinks I’m to skinny. You’d give him a heart attack.”  
“He taught you to cook?” Hux said.   
“Yep,” Poe said, “My mom and I had flying, my dad and I had cooking.”  
Poe starts to unpack the groceries he’d ordered for them, he supposes he could’ve pilfered some food from the big kitchen, but that seemed like an abuse of his power.  
“I’m gonna get started on the sauce, you can chop the vegetables, you’ll be good at that.”  
Hux had been stepping towards the countertop, but stops to shoot him a glare.  
“I meant ‘cause of that knife you had hidden up your sleeve. I’m guessing you knew how to use it.”  
“Am I to be allowed knives then?” Hux said, “It seems like an unnecessarily risk.”  
“Just one,” Poe said, pointing to the knife block, “And if anyone asks tell them I made you use a plastic one.”  
“I’m always happy to lie to the Resistance,” Hux said, and starts with the chopping.  
“Use the serrated blade for tomatoes,” Poe said, over his shoulder.  
Hux makes a sound of disinterested acknowledgement.

They work in a silence that Poe likes to pretend is peaceful yet companionable, but he can feel the waves of dissatisfaction Hux is giving off like radiation from a sun.   
When he has finished chopping (very efficiently, Poe was right about that), Hux comes to stand in Poe’s shadow in a slightly disconcerting way,   
“What’re you doing there, Hugs,” Poe said.   
“Learning to cook,” Hux said, “Wasn’t that the point?”  
“Well, the point was you get to eat a meal you actually like.”  
“I don’t like food,” Hux said.   
“No, you don’t like gross unseasoned First Order food. You don’t like meat,” Poe said, “You’ll like this, or I’ll give you ten thousand credits and an X-Wing to do with whatever you please.”  
Hux huffs, moves even closer to Poe, unconcerned with the vegetables Poe is trying to fry, and brings his lips to Poe’s neck.   
Poe is expecting and readies himself for a kiss. Instead, Hux abruptly licks Poe’s ear lobe, and laughs, drawing away.  
“What was that?” Poe says, rubbing at his ear with his shoulder.  
“I’m bored,” Hux said, “You drag me away from my books and my bed to watch you cook?”  
“I’m cooking for you, asshole,” Poe said, “Here, keep stirring, I’m gonna sort out the sauce. Try not to do anything gross. Or burn it.”  
“Yes, sir,” Hux said, his voice bitter but he is, at least, still smiling, obviously having entertained himself sufficiently. 

Poe maybe should have chosen a less complex dish to cook, because it’s nearly a full hour until they are sat down at the small table with their food.   
Really, the proper drink for the meal would be red wine, but Poe really isn’t going to push Hux on that front, because it strikes him as a hardline. So they have water, and it’s maybe not as romantic or satiating in the same as wine, but it’s better, at least, than nothing.   
Hux shuts his expressions off, as he picks up the knife and fork and starts poking at the meal like he expects it to bite back.   
“Would you want to meet my dad?” Poe said.  
He surprises himself as he says it. He’d been thinking about it, but not planning it.  
“Perhaps not,” Hux said, quietly.  
“He’s been asking me for a visit for a while,” Poe said, “I mean, I had to cut my last trip to see him short. I thought it would be best if he came here, I can’t leave base for too long.”  
“Such dedication,” Hux said, “I can ask Alder or Tico to escort me about the base if you want to spend time with your father.”  
“I want you to meet him,” Poe said, “And he wants to meet you.”  
“Excuse me?”  
“I spoke to him a lot when I was stuck rerouting,” Poe said, “He wants to know who I’m with.”  
“Are you sure he even wants to come?” Hux said, with a disbelieving look in his eye, like he truly can’t imagine that families would want to visit each-other.  
“Uh, yeah, I hope so,” Poe said, “He really wants to meet you, too.”  
Hux wrinkled his nose.   
“I know when you’re lying, Poe,” he said.  
“Clearly not,” Poe said, thinks about the whole you-didn’t-notice-I-was-a-spy thing, but decides it’s probably still a sore spot, “Because he said, very directly, that he wants to meet you.”  
“Does he know who I am? You did tell him?”   
Poe laughs.   
“Yes, he knows who you are,” Poe said, “I told my Dad the truth about Starkiller. Your intel.”   
This was not the right thing to say.   
Hux balked.  
“Why?”   
“I didn’t want him to hate you!”   
Hux really had the gall to look upset, putting down his cutlery and glowering across the table.  
“If he has any sense he’ll hate me anyway,” Hux said, folding his arms across himself.  
“Yeah, well, sense doesn’t exactly run in my family.”  
“You said it.”   
“Why do you want people to hate you?” Poe said, “You’d have an easier time here if you let me tell people that you were the one who leaked the intel.”  
“Who else knows?”  
“Uh, Leia, but you knew that,” Poe said, “And Finn. Rose. Probably Rey. BB-8, if you’re counting - ”  
“I asked you not to tell anyone,” Hux said, his voice dull.  
“I tell my Dad everything,” Poe said, “It’s important that you guys meet.”  
Hux shakes his head and sighs.  
“Whatever you like, Dameron,” he said, “Don’t be surprised when he hates me.”  
Poe sits back, leaning on the hind legs of his chair. He makes a move for Hux’s hand, but he moves it away before Poe can reach it, and snatches up his fork again.   
“This tastes nice.” Hux says, quietly.   
“I know,” Poe said, “I made it.”   
They eat again in silence, and it’s the first meal he actually witnesses Hux finish.   
“I can put my Dad off,” Poe said.   
“No,” Hux said, “Not on my account. It would be nice, I think, to meet the man responsible for you.”  
“I don’t know if you’re complimenting me or insulting me.”  
“Neither do I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> only a day later than I intended to post it! (updates should be a tentative Sunday, but were originally Fridays, so don't take me for my word)  
> That being said, next week will almost definitely be late as I'm moving at the weekend.  
> Thank you for any comments, kudos, and for reading!


	4. Scale

After the age of about twenty, Armitage spent what amounted to no time at all with his father. 

There were the occasions when their paths might cross, but there was little need for socialisation. It was the only mutual understanding they would ever come to: Brendol enjoyed to pretend to be childless, Armitage enjoyed to pretend to be an orphan. 

When Armitage had gotten a promotion, the General position so close he could taste it, Brendol did not send so much as quick comms message. There was some bitterness, he presumed, that Brendol had been in his late forties before he was a General, and he had only earned that position by outliving the majority of his competition.

Armitage would get it by thirty. 

Killing Brendol had long been in the cards, semi-serious plans made with Phasma, but he had wanted his father to see how much more successful he was than him, how much more worthy. He wouldn’t inherit the Order, like everyone thought he would. He would take it. 

There were a few occasions that required they play for the same side, as it were, but even then, their dislike for one another was palpable, with Brendol loudly enquiring about Armitage’s _health_ or else ignoring him altogether, as though he was still some cadet, and not heading up an significant portion of the First Order’s engineering divisions. 

He’d not needed to interact with his father for nearly a full standard year when Hilk, a young Captain who had died a few months later stopped him. 

They rarely talked - they had been in Brendol’s version of the elite officer’s academy together - it was best not to talk to such people. 

“General Hux is here,” Hilk had hissed in his ear. 

“Where?” Armitage had said, forgetting to pretend to be unbothered. 

It wasn’t all the important, with Hilk. Hilk had been one of Brendol’s least favourites. 

“Your office, sir,” she said, “Waiting.”

“ _Why?_ ”

“I didn’t question him, did I?” She snapped, “Sir.” 

He had to concede that to her. 

“I should go to him,” he pondered aloud, “To see if it’s important.” 

Hilk said nothing else, and Armitage took his time walking to him, as though it was a visit with any normal superior officer. 

Even if Hilk hadn’t told him, he’d have known about Brendol’s presence, because the strong smell of alcohol hit him before the door to his office had even fully opened. 

His office looked as though it had been ransacked, though the perpetrator was there, on the little blue sofa, waiting for him. 

On the small table in front of him he had an open container of some brown liquid, that Armitage assumed was the originator of the stench.

Brendol had clearly gone through all of his things to hunt down glasses, because there was tea strewn about the floor, and a chipped mug lay abandoned on top of the cabinet. 

“Armitage,” Brendol had said, “It’s about time.”

“Sir,” Armitage said, “I would offer you a drink but I see you’ve made yourself quite at home.”

Brendol sneered, but did not seemed overly offended by his attitude.

He was in a good mood. 

Armitage’s eyes landed on his desk, where there were blueprints strewn haphazardly. 

He did keep them locked away, but he’d long since stopped expecting real privacy when it came to Brendol. 

“Hasn’t anyone told you blueprints are a few centuries out of fashion?” Brendol said, having obviously followed his eye line to the mess.

“A few people have mentioned it,” Armitage said, “But blueprints help me visualise better.”

Brendol leaned forwards, poured himself some more to drink.

“Come sit down,” he’d said, and Armitage had almost immediately acquiesced. 

It wasn’t worth starting an argument, so he sat.

He expected Brendol to have something to say, some complaint about one of Armitage’s projects. Much of what he did stepped on the toes of the old guard, his attempts at modernisation unappreciated if not outright rejected. 

“It’s pointless, you playing at fixing things,” Brendol said, with a nod towards the blueprints. 

“Playing?”

“You’re messing with things that aren’t broken, boy,” Brendol said, sternly.

“My targeting system increased accuracy by - ”

“Yes, I’ve read your little reports, boy,” Brendol said, “You’ve created a generation of lazy gunners, congratulations.”

Armitage chewed at the inside of his lower lip as subtly as he could manage, which he would pay for with ulcers. 

“As long as they hit their target, I don’t see why it should matter how they do it.”

Brendol suddenly brought his hand to the back of Armitage’s head, and he managed not to flinch. 

He steadied himself firmly against the turbulence of his father’s temper, had learned that reacting made it worse long ago. 

But no blow actually came. 

There was another brief flurry of worry, when older men had touched him so gently before they had wanted something else from him entirely. 

Brendol had never struck him as that particular brand of vile, but he didn’t put such behaviour past anyone. 

He waited, instead of dodging out of the way, avoiding even looking in Brendol’s direction. He waited for pull of Brendol’s fingers in his hair, leaving bloody dots on his scalp, or the slip of Brendol’s hands, tight on the back of his neck.

“They say you look like me,” Brendol had said, slurring, “You look like her.”

Brendol’s hand retracts for a second, and Armitage takes the opportunity to stand.

“Would you like another drink?” 

He had done this before, plied his father with so much drink that he passed out, past violent drunk and slipping into sloppiness. 

A survival technique, but if it rotted his father’s liver, too, then it only made it more worthwhile. 

It was not the response Brendol had desired, because he was on his feet, too, hissing something incomprehensible. 

Armitage pulled at the bottom of his sleeves, straightened his uniform, waiting once more for a blow. 

“I tried to raise you to be strong,”

This wasn’t true. 

In fact, it was so patently false that Armitage nearly laughed. Brendol had not raised him at all, it was nannies and droids and whoever felt sorry enough for him to risk enraging Brendol by being kind to his son. Then it was the First Order and training. Brendol was little more than a vague, oppressive presence, a humanised threat, doling out punishments he called life lessons whenever he saw fit. 

“I don’t know how I failed so badly,” Brendol said, “You can get me that drink now.” 

“Perhaps we could go to the officer’s mess for some food,” Armitage said, doesn’t add that Brendol needed to soak up the booze, but Brendol slaps him like he said it. 

It is almost a relief, to get it out of the way. 

The next time Armitage spends time alone with his father, he is there to kill him. 

***

Hux is more comfortable than he’s willing to admit, lying next to Poe. 

Poe, however, is working, and Armitage has read the book Tico had given him twice and is bored.

The role reversal would be funny, if it didn’t make him feel so depressed. 

Poe will occasionally give out a bored groan, or yawn, until he feels so silent that Hux thinks he’s fallen asleep. 

He looks up to see Poe, still wide awake and reading with a more intent expression than he’d ever seen on him. 

Hux places his hand on Poe’s firm chest, elicits a smile from him when he thumbs at his nipple, but nothing more. Which isn’t rejection, either, so he runs a hand along Poe’s muscles, down past the slight softness at his lower belly, briefly combing his fingers through the tangle of pubic hair.

“Hux, stop,” Poe said. 

Hux retracts his hands, and turns his back to Poe.

“What’re you doing?” he said, irritated. 

More at himself for being desperate and unable to bite his tongue.

“I told you,” Poe said, “Putting together a new team for training. I have to read these files.”

Hux sits up.

He isn’t looking, but he leans across Poe to get to the water on the bedside table, and Poe clicks the button at the base of the datapad, but not quickly enough that he can’t catch a glimpse of his own name.

“It’s about me,”

“No,” Poe said. 

“I _saw_ it.”

Poe smiles, licks his lower lip, guilty.

“Why are you reading a file on me when I’m here?”

“It’s old,” Poe said, as though that was supposed to mean anything.

“And?”

“And what?”

“Why?”

“I forgot it was on here,” Poe said, “Seriously. It’s from before I went undercover, I was supposed to read it then - and I started now. Accidentally.”

“It’s a First Order file,” Hux realises, out-loud, and the painful sickness that lives at the bottom of his stomach swells. 

“It’s old,” Poe says, again, “Doesn’t even mention Starkiller base. Or, you know, you being dead. I mean, officially unofficially dead.”

“Why are you reading it.”

“I didn’t plan on it,”

“And yet, you did,” 

“You’ve probably read mine,”

“Yes,” Hux said, “When I had just found out that I had been sleeping with a Resistance spy. I believe the situation is different as you have _always_ known who I am.”

“Just because I know who you are, doesn’t mean I know anything about you.”

“You know more about me than any other living person,” Hux said, “And more than most dead people, too.”

“I didn’t know you were a child soldier.”

“I wasn’t.”

“It says you were twelve when the Order resorted to using young cadets after their forces were depleted in an attempt to regain control of - ”

“Twelve,” Hux said, “Not a child. Besides, it was one battle. I didn’t see any kind of combat again until I was twenty, and by then I was an engineer and in very little danger of dying. It’s unimportant.”

“I read your file because whenever I ask you something you dismiss it.”

“Oh, it’s all so miserable you don’t _want_ to hear it,” Hux said, getting out of bed, “Unless you do. Is it because you believe that knowing all about the dreadful things the First Order did when I was young will make me see the light and fix me? Or do you simply get off on the idea - ”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Poe said.

“I thought so,” Hux said, pulling on his clothes.

“Where are you going?” Poe said, running his hands through his hair from the bed.

“Nowhere,” Hux said, sitting down heavily, “I can’t _go_ anywhere, can I?”

Poe steps out of his bed, sits on the sofa next to Hux, crossing his legs and grinning.

“Hux. Hugs,” Poe said, his voice lightening, “Armitage? Armie? Tidge? Arm - ”

“ _Enough_ with the stupid nicknames,” Hux said, can feel himself get hot and red and angry, “Will you just take me seriously for _once_?”

“Okay, shit, I’m sorry,” Poe said, sliding closer, “I didn’t think that…well, I plain didn’t _think._ ”

Poe moves to put a hand on Hux’s head, and Hux flinches out of the way.

He is trying to suppress the urge to a say a hundred cruel things that he could never take back, and more so the urge to cry. 

“Is it about…” Poe’s voice trails off, “Is it about the suicide attempts?”

“It wasn’t - ”

He can’t finish the rest of the sentence, so Hux pushes his face in his hands, pulling at his hair in an attempt to distract himself from the conversation.

He was crying now, pathetic and unrestrained.

“I think you’re having a panic attack,” Poe had said.

“No, I’m not,”

“Okay,” Poe said, moving closer to him, “You’re not.”

He keeps his head in his hands and doesn’t look up.

“I’m not a _child_.”

“I know,” Poe says, unconvincingly, “You mind if I touch you?”

He manages to shake his head, and Poe puts a hand on his back.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Poe said, “But I want to to, one day.” 

Hux barely speaks to Poe for the next couple of days. It’s not entirely on purpose. Poe is busy with training his new recruits, and Hux all but begs Tico for more work. They had quit their usual lunch routine, and Hux stays later than is required from him. 

They don’t even talk in bed, just lie next to each other, with all the warmth and stillness of corpses. 

He usually wakes up in Poe’s arms, however, and they stay like that for almost an hour in the morning, breathing softly, more is said in that silence than Hux is willing to express.

Poe breaks their lunch time hiatus after four cycles, striding as though their departure from routine hadn’t happened at all. 

Hux is stuck with the children, as Tico had gone off to the mess with the former stormtrooper, and Hux had no valid reasons to deny watching them.

“What would their parents say, you leaving them with me?” He had tried, and the stormtrooper had grimaced.

“I hate to agree with Hux, but…”

“But nothing,” Tico said, with a falsely sweet ‘ _nice try’_ kind of tone that reminded him of how much he missed Phasma, “Their parents know who you are. If they had any problems they would’ve objected already.”

And then they left.

The older girls took care of themselves, getting on with some pointless task Tico had assigned them that Hux didn’t understand at all, but the boy-child was a different matter altogether. 

He was not nearly old enough to be useful, and barely old enough to be taught to be useful. 

Hux had been stupid enough to relinquish to the child’s commands to draw him a picture once, and now the child expected it every time joined Tico’s group of prospective mechanics. 

“Draw a dog,” he’d said, pushing a pencil towards Hux for the third time that morning.

“I can’t.” Hux said.

“Draw a dog, pretty please,” Bran said (and that name had made him wince, the first time he heard it, even if it wasn’t the _same_ as his father’s, and it wasn’t the damn kids fault).

“I don’t draw animals,” Hux said, which was true enough, had not drawn anything that wouldn’t be useful to an engineer in his life.

“Don’t you know what a dog is?”

“I know what a dog is,” Hux said, “But I will not be able to draw one for you accurately. There is no point in spending my time doing something that will be subpar.”

“Dogs have tails,” Bran said, and pushed the pencil towards him again. 

“That _is_ inarguable,” Hux said, picking up the offered pencil.

He hadn’t drawn much of it when Poe turned up, accompanied by Tico and a vain feeling that they had been talking about him. 

“Hey,” Poe said, “Want to go out for a smoke?” 

Gratefully, he makes an escape with minimal moaning from Bran. 

“You’re good with the kids,” Poe said, as the door slides shut behind them and they make their way to the trees they usually smoke next to, “It’s cute.”

Hux busies himself with searching for his cigs to avoid having to respond.

“Did you ever want them?”

“Want what?”

“Children,” Poe said, pulling out the syllables. 

“No,” Hux said, “I would be a terrible father.”

“Bran thinks you’re fun,” Poe said.

“He’ll learn better,” Hux said, “Besides, I am often the only person in the room with him. I am simply a better alternative than staring at a wall.”

“I used to,” Poe said, “Before I knew how bad this whole galaxy was. Sometimes I can’t believe that anyone has kids at all. You didn’t ever want them?”

“No,” Hux said, “Regardless, I was sterilised. It has been a great comfort to know my father’s name dies with me.”

Poe lights his cig for him, making too much eye contact as he does it.

“Was it a choice?” 

“Mostly,” Hux said, “My poor breeding and mother’s genetic deficiencies made me a good candidate. It was greatly encouraged but no-one forced me.”

“My dad,” Poe said, after a few seconds of silence, “It’s probably gonna make a thing of it. He’s uh, a big fan of kids. Biological. Adoptive, whatever. But he’s desperate to be a grandpa. I keep telling him he needs to be happy with BB-8, but…”

“I understand,” Hux said, “What would you like me to tell him?”

“To shut up? No, I’ll do that part,” Poe said, “But just. He has a sense of humour. Not a good one.”

“You think I’m very thin-skinned,” Hux said.

“Kind of.” Poe said, “He’s leaving tonight. Unless you’ve changed your mind.”

“No,” Hux said, “It would be rude to cancel plans at this time.”

Poe smiled, more genuine than he had in the past few days. 

And so it seemed like a good time to ask the question that had been making Hux feel ill for weeks. 

“I have a favour to ask of you,” Hux said, “I don’t want you to be angry with me.”

“It’s almost a guarantee that I won’t be,” Poe said, stubbing out his cig before pocketing it. 

Hux lights a second.

“I would like to know who died on Starkiller base.” 

“What? Now?”

“I have been curious,” Hux said, “If it’s at all possible…”

“It’s possible. I think our intel is a bit outdated, it’s from right after, but I have it on my datapad.”

Hux nods.

“Did Phasma die?” He manages to ask before taking a long drag that makes him feel dizzy in a way that smoking hadn’t since he was a child.

The way Poe blinks gives away the answer before he vocalises it.

“She was reported missing,” Poe said, “I know you knew her a long time…”

“Just a colleague,” Hux said. 

“Why do you want to know all of a sudden?” Poe said.

Hux presses his teeth together, bites back the angry at the implication that Poe isn’t even aware he’s making.

“They were my responsibility,” Hux said. 

He steels himself against the arguments he expects: _did you care this much about the Hosnian System?_

It’s why he hasn’t asked for the numbers before. There are so many terrible things he can learn that Poe thinks of him. 

“Okay,” Poe said, “I get it. You can look tonight.” 

***

Poe goes over the plans for his father’s visit again and again. At first, it is relaxing to know that there is a least a very loose itinerary, and then it swells the anxiety further. 

Reading the list of the dead does not help, increases his guilt with every name or number he even faintly recognises. He was a coward not to have died on Starkiller base. 

It would have been a very fitting end. 

Poe attempts comfort, but there’s lingering unease between them. 

It’s a unique talent that Hux has, to be able to so throughly alienate himself from everyone around him. 

Instead, Hux makes himself busy with cleaning up Poe’s room. 

“It’s not that bad,” Poe kept insisting. 

“You cannot allow your father to sleep in this mess,” Hux said, “That table has been there this whole time and I have only just realised it exists.”

“It’s my clothes table,” Poe said, “They don’t fit in the wardrobe.”

“They would if you hung them up properly,” Hux said, grateful to be back to their usual method of communication: bickering, “Why do you even have so many?”

“Because I’m handsome and look good in anything,” Poe said, sitting on his bed, wrinkling the sheets that Hux had just made. 

Due to the limited space, Poe’s father would spend his two nights on base in Poe’s room, and Poe and Hux would have to make do sharing Hux’s narrow bed. 

“That reminds me,” Poe said, getting back up and rifling through the pile of clothes Hux had just folded, “This will look good on you.”

He throws a sweater at Hux.

“What is it?”

“Sweater, Hux. A green one. It’ll look pretty with your hair and eyes.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, colour theory? You’re the artist.”

“I am not,” Hux said, smoothing the admittedly very soft material between his fingers, “I meant, why are you giving it to me?”

“It’s small on me. It’ll probably fit you better than…” Poe simply gestures with no need to say anything else.

“I do look rather dreadful, don’t I?” 

His clothes all fitted poorly and he was in desperate need for, at the very least, a haircut. 

“Not what I saying,” Poe said, “I like you however you look. But I thought you’d appreciate the change.”

“I do,” Hux said, “Thank you. You don’t happen to have a decent barber buried somewhere in here, do you?”

“Ehh…” Poe looked around, patted at himself exaggeratedly, “Nope, sorry. I can get you scissors to do it yourself?”

“I’ve never done it myself before,” Hux said. 

“Yeah, never had you as the type. If I hadn’t seen you shave myself I’d think you had someone to do _that_ for you,” Poe said, “I could cut your hair.”

There’s a passing sense of embarrassment that Poe thinks he’s really _that_ useless until he parses it as a joke.

“Perhaps I _will_ do it myself.”

***

He wants to meet Kes Dameron even less, when it comes to it. Poe leaves him in his room while he greets his father and takes him to the community kitchen.

Hux looks remarkably less terrible with a haircut and a sweater that almost fits, but he still feels dreadfully underdressed to meet Poe’s father. 

When Poe collects him, Hux finds that Kes Dameron looks significantly like his son. His hair and beard more salt than pepper, he has a deeper tan and is quite a bit taller than Poe, but still just slightly shorter than Hux. 

He has a firm handshake, and Poe’s exact smile. 

“Dad, Armitage,” Poe said, not concealing at all how happy he was for them to meet. 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir,”

“ _Sir?_ ” The elder Dameron repeats, laughing. 

Hux feels his face grow hot. 

Kes Dameron claps a heavy hand on his shoulder, still laughing. 

“Just call me Kes,” He said, lightening his grip and wandering to the other side of the kitchen to take down wine glasses. 

“Sorry, touchy-feely family,” Poe said, in a low whisper, “You mind if I have a glass? I won’t get drunk.”

Hux shakes his head.

“So…how did this…happen?” Kes Dameron said, only looking at Hux.

_I gave your son a blow job and he never left my bed._

“He’s surprisingly generous with his cigs,” Poe said, “Couldn’t shake me.”

“Well, that sounds like you,” Kes said, “You need me to do anything?”

“Meat,” Poe said, “I’ll do vegetables, Hux doesn’t eat meat.” 

“You don’t need to cook something separate for me,” Hux said, still loitering at the furthest end of the kitchen, ever the interloper. 

“I don’t mind, baby,” Poe says. 

Hux doesn’t argue against the newest nickname, at the risk of drawing Poe’s father’s attention to it. 

Hux draws himself closer into the kitchen, keeping Poe as a buffer between himself and Kes.

“Is there anything you need _me_ to do?” Hux said quietly, leaning over Poe and slipping a hand into his pocket. 

“No, I’m good,” Poe says, with a smile, not noticing as Hux slides his keycard from his pocket. 

It is just insurance. 

He can give it back later, if things go well. 

They do not go well. 

They had sat down for their meal, and Hux had stopped listening to the conversation Poe and Kes were having until notices Kes staring at him. 

“Has Poe told you about any of his exes?”

“Dad,” Poe says, “It’s not the time.”

“No, I’m just curious,” Kes said, “First Order is pretty obsessed with whole purity of humanity thing, right?”

“He’s not in the First Order anymore,” Poe said. 

“But he was for a long a time,” Kes said, “ _You_ said that you didn’t think he was ever going to leave.”

Hux catches Poe’s eye, who shrugs apologetically. 

“I was wrong about that,” Poe said, “No-one wants to talk about my exes.”

“Well, just one of them,” Kes said, “I want to know his opinion.”

“No, you want to start an argument,” Poe said, “Dad.”

“What don’t you want me to know?” Hux asked, against his best judgment.

“Gida,” Kes said, “He was going to propose to her.”

“I was thinking about _maybe_ proposing to her,” Poe said, “She was a pilot.” 

“And a Twi’lek.” 

Hux looks to Poe, who shrugs again. 

“It was five years ago,” Poe said, “ _Six_ , actually. Dad just liked her.”

“She was _nice_ ,” Kes said, “It’s a forbidden relationship, by First Order standards, right?”

“A relationship would not be forbidden. Just interbreeding.” Hux said, truthfully.

Kes snorts and leans back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest. 

“ _This_ what you didn’t want to talk about, Poe?” Kes said, and turns to Hux again, “What if I told you that we had distant, non-human ancestors?”

“I don’t care about that,” Hux said. 

“Dad, stop,” Poe said, close to a shout, “Please, just shut up.” 

Hux imagines what his own father would have done if he had ever told him to shut up, and chokes himself on water as he tries to hide a slightly manic laugh. 

“Alright,” Kes said, holding his hands up in mock defeat, “I’m sorry. I just wanted to know who you’re with.” 

“Yeah, you’ll get to know him,” Poe said, “Before the wedding, I hope.” 

Hux nearly choked again. 

This time, Kes joined him.

“Wedding?”

“In a handful of months, I think,” Poe said, and pats Hux’s hand, “Right?”

“Yes,” Hux said, and adds, “Sooner, if I have my way.”

“He wanted to elope,” Poe said, “But I said, nope, we have to a have big ceremony.”

“Great,” Kes said, “Congratulations.” 

Poe is grinning as though he wants it to be true. 

“Wine, Armitage?” 

“He doesn’t drink,” Poe says. 

“No wine? What do you do for fun?”

“I kick porgs.” 

Kes freezes, and then chuckles.

Poe pours himself a small glass of wine and then Kes a larger one, and Hux pushes the rest of the meal around his plate until an acceptable amount of time had passed.

“I have a headache,” Hux said, “Would you excuse me?”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll just walk you…” Poe said, patting at his pockets, “You have my key, don’t you?”

“It was nice to meet you,” Hux said, with a nod in Kes’s direction, “I’ll see you later, Poe.”

It’s after at least two hours of sitting alone in his room, sulking like a child, that Poe shows up.

“Hey,” Poe says, sounding falsely casual, “You missed dessert.”

He holds up a small bowl. 

An obvious attempt at distraction. Poe is too tired to continue the conversation about his past loves. 

Hux _is_ surprised that he bothered coming at all. 

Hux had behaved abysmally, and Poe was here giving him another chance.

“What is it?” 

“Lemon sorbet. You’ll like it, it’s bitter.”

“Like me?”

“Not what I was getting at, but that’s kinda funny, Hugs,” Poe said, “You might grow a full sense of humour, one day.”

“I hope not.”

Poe sits down heavily beside Hux.

“You still don’t eat enough,” Poe said, and Hux must look particularly pathetic because he quickly adds, “Not to be critical. Just. One and a half meals a day isn’t _advisable_.”

“I would prefer less.”

Hux does it again: sounds harsher than he had wanted too. 

“Want me to feed you?” 

“If you put that in my mouth, Dameron, I will you choke you with the spoon,” he said, as so softly as he can manage. 

“Wow,” Poe said, “Cold _and_ bitter.”

He slides the spoon into his own mouth, and sucks for longer than necessary, looking up at Hux in an unholy way. 

“I’m certainly not eating it now,” Hux said. 

Poe digs in his pocket and produces another spoon.

“Thought you’d say that,” Poe says, muffled through the spoon that hangs out of his mouth. 

“We shouldn’t eat on the bed,” Hux said, taking the spoon from Poe.

“We already are,” Poe said. 

Later, when they’re laying side by side, or, more accurately, Hux is on his back whilst Poe is on his side, arms thrown around Hux’s waist. There is not enough room for this, it would be better with both of them on their sides, but Hux refuses to shift, even if it means Poe is hanging onto him more to stop himself from falling off the bed than to be close to Hux. 

He knows that Poe is awake, because his breathing hasn’t deepened and slowed. 

“I don’t care about the Twi’lek,” Hux said. 

He is not entirely sure that that is what he is supposed to say, but he knows that they are going to have this argument again if he doesn’t say something now.

“Really?” Poe says, soft.

“As long as you’re not still sleeping with it.”

Poe grunts unpleasantly and shifts away a little. 

“ _She’s_ dead,” Poe said. 

“I’m sorry,” Hux said, because that is what people who didn’t know any better said to him when his father died. 

“You’re not,” Poe said, “My dad was right about that one.”

Poe and his father were both right, because Hux didn’t care if that Twi’lek Poe had been thinking about marrying was alive or dead. 

In fact, he preferred the Twi’lek was dead. 

“I’m sorry you lost someone you cared about,” He clarified, and that sounded more honest.

“You’ve never lost anyone you actually loved before, have you?” Poe says. 

There is a sharpness to his tone that is more pitiful than angry, but it still makes Hux instinctively twitch away from him.

He doesn’t respond, at least partially because he doesn’t know the answer. He certainly didn’t love his father, didn’t know his mother well enough to love her. Phasma was probably dead, but that was better described as learned tolerance and reluctant friendship, and if she was alive and knew where he was now she’d probably kill him with no love lost. He _regretted_ the loss of life on Starkiller base.

“Hux?” Poe said, “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about.”

“It wasn’t a nice question,” Poe said. 

“I’m not a nice person,” Hux said, “No, I’ve never lost anyone I’ve loved. You’re still here, though stars knows why.”

“You love me?” Poe said. 

His voice was warmer, almost playful.

“You must know I do.”

“Of course I _know_ ,” Poe said, “Everyone loves me _._ You’ve never said it before.” 

“Did I need to?”

“No,” Poe said, “But I still like to hear it.”

Hux bites his lip in the dark. 

“That was a hint, by the way,” Poe said.

“Oh,” Hux said, “Then I love you, I suppose.”

“You’re a real romantic, Hugs,” Poe said, “I love you, too.”

“Still?”

“Still.” 

***

For Poe’s sake, Hux is escorted by him to meet Kes in the greenhouses a few hundred metres away from the main base. 

Hux has passed them before on his runs, but hasn’t paid all that much attention to them. 

Kes is waiting for them, reminding Hux all the more of Poe by the way he leans against the glass walls of the greenhouse.

“You don’t mind if I slip off?” Poe said, as they got there, and it hits Hux that this was the plan all along. 

“I do actually,” Hux says, but gestures that Poe should leave, even if it is a terrible idea to leave them alone together. 

Poe touches his elbow, hugs his father, and says something in his ear that Hux can’t understand and assumes might be a native language of Yavin-4, and leaves. 

“Thanks for coming,” Kes said, passing a hot-flask over to Hux, “It’s tea. Poe really chewed me out after you left last night.” 

“Thank you,” Hux said, accepting the drink.

He hadn’t had time to have one before leaving.

“I was a little more aggressive than I needed to be,” Kes said, “He’s told me what you’ve already done for the Resistance.”

“I understand why you would feel about me the way you do,” Hux said, carefully, “But for Poe, perhaps we should both pretend to be a little more tolerant of one another.” 

“You’re still a piece of work, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” Hux said.

Kes nodded. 

“Alright. I brought Poe some plants from Yavin-4. It’s hot here but they’ll still do better in the green house. Live longer, too. Lot of insects on this planet.” 

“On Arkanis we call them dry-houses,” Hux said, quietly, “Very little can survive there otherwise.”

“Was it really that bad?” Kes said, “Thought everyone from there was prone to exaggeration.”

“It rains two-hundred and seven days out of two-hundred and eleven,” Hux said.

“Just a bit, then?” Kes said.

Hux tries to return it. 

He decides his best method is to smile like a fool, do whatever Kes tells him to do, and say as little as he can get away with. 

“We need to repot them,” Kes said, “You done much gardening?” 

“Some.”

Kes raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t comment, and they set to rehoming the plants.

“You’re better at this than Poe,” Kes said, “He gets a little over excited and ends up pulling off half the roots.” 

“I can imagine,” Hux said, easing the smaller pot from the plant.

“He means well, at least,” Kes said. 

Hux wonders if that is supposed to be a jibe. 

“He worries about you,” Kes said, “You make him worry.”

“He shouldn’t,” Hux said.

“Really? ‘Cause he refuses to share any of your little secrets and you seem to have a lot of them.” 

“He shouldn’t worry about me,” Hux repeats, gritting his teeth and adding extra soil to a slightly oversized pot. 

“He calls me, says he’s worried about you but won’t ever tell me why,” Kes said, “Are you using him for a lighter sentence?” 

Hux supposes the accusation is a long time coming. 

“No,” Hux said, “Choosing to be with him is how I got myself into the situation where I could be sentenced.” 

“I was just checking,” Kes said, “You won’t hurt him?”

“There is nothing in this or any other imaginable galaxy that I care about more than your son,” Hux said.

“That’s good to hear,” Kes said, and smiles, looking younger and more like Poe again, “So, he tells me you’re allergic to the idea of giving me grandchildren?” 

***

The day had gone better, and Hux is tired, but still finds himself unable to sleep. He stares at the ceiling, listening to Poe’s breathing. 

It is not comfortable, and it’s likely that years of stims and shifts have permanently destroyed his sleep cycle and his appetite, so his chance of an actual nights rest is slim.

And his conversation with Kes Dameron spins around in his head. Having the conversation they’ve been avoiding for over a week might assuage some of Poe’s worries.

“Poe?”

“Mm,” Poe said, without opening his eyes.

“About the file.”

“M’sorry I read it.” Poe said, through an indelicate yawn.

“I didn’t mean for it to be an _actual_ suicide attempt,” Hux said, which made Poe open his eyes, “I was seventeen.”

“You don’t have - ”

“I _want_ to,” Hux said, “Upon passing an interrogation simulation we were given suicide capsules to replace a tooth that was removed during the exercise. I thought about it a lot. It seemed so easy, to be able to bite down and have everything stop. But I wasn’t serious about it.”

Poe’s hand is on his bare shoulder, gently weighty and warm. 

“What happened?”

“My father. I did something to disappoint him - I don’t remember what - I was called to his office to be disciplined and he was there with his obsequious little clique, there to _watch,_ and after a few hits with his cane I decided I had had enough.”

“Armitage,” Poe says, and Hux pushed himself to look him in the eye.

“Why are _you_ crying? It’s _my_ humiliating story.”

“I’m sad _for_ you,” Poe said impatiently, “How did you…not die?”

“One of my father’s friends. Pryde. Did you know him? He’s a prick, too, so don’t think he was doing it out of kindness, he’s lorded it over me ever since. He stuck his fingers down my throat. My father was most disappointed. Primarily that I had made a mess of an expensive rug, but he was rather upset with my display of weakness.”

Poe didn’t laugh, in fact, his eyes were still watering.

Hux reaches out, and with a thumb, steals his tears. 

“Don’t cry about me,” Hux said, “I plan on staying alive and irritating you for a very long time. I’ll make you regret ever seducing me.” 

“ _You_ seduced _me!_ ” Poe protested, snorting through a half-laugh.

“Not how I remember it.”

“You _are_ irritating,” Poe said, “Fuck, Hugs.”

“Yes, I know,” Hux said, “But please don’t worry about it. It was almost half my life ago.”

Poe’s sigh is soft, and he moves closer in the already far too narrow bed, enveloping Hux in his arms in a way that is not entirely comfortable, but is far from unpleasant. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is so late that it is almost early, which is actually impressive if you think about it. So sorry about the lateness of it, I should be back to a normal schedule. 
> 
> On ANOTHER note, I have only just realised how badly I have been fing up my formatting, so I think that I will go back and fix it all at some point, which is embarrassing, but for the best. 
> 
> A final note is if you think there are any tags/warnings I've missed and should add please let me know, I'm terrible at thinking and willing to do better!
> 
> thank you so much for reading and sticking with my terrible, disorganised self.


	5. De Jour

Poe spends as little time as possible in the office he was assigned. Never in his life had he wanted one, or even be in one. Being in the office at the small school he’d attended meant he was about to get a lecture on the virtues of shutting up when his teacher was talking. 

He’d been putting off the boring, house-keeping side of being General, but he had _also_ been putting off any missions that required him to leave base for more than three cycles. 

Poe had semi-seriously suggested that Hux accompany him off planet, but both Leia and Hux had immediately vetoed the idea without even hearing him out.

He had also tried to ask Hux to come to his office with him, but Hux had dismissed this, too, with an irritated, _’you want me to watch you work?’_

So he’s stuck in the office on his own, watching his pilots do the work he’d rather be doing through the little window. 

He’d taken to carrying around the little grey-green stone Hux had given him, thumbing it and turning it around in his hands whenever he got bored.

He keeps his datapad on his desk as he leans back in his chair, absent-mindedly threading some black wire through the hole of the stone and occasionally scrolling.

If he speaks to Hux about it, Hux will insist that he’s fine on his own. 

Poe ties the new bracelet he’s made around his wrist and sits back in his chair. 

It’s not that he thinks Hux will actually _do_ anything, but he’s acutely aware of how little time they actually spend with each other, compared to normal couples. 

Hux would roll his eyes and say something that was true yet vaguely depressing, like, _we’re not a normal couple,_ and Poe would say something playfully insulting in return, and Hux would do the thing he does where he tries to look like he’s not smiling.

He slips out for lunch a little earlier than usual, sure that Hux will be up for a cig break even if he’s busy (and everyone except Poe seem busy lately).

He’s taking his cigs out of his pocket as the door to Rose’s workshop slides opens and he full body collides into Rose. 

“Ow, you’re heavier than you look,” Rose said, shaking out her foot, “I was just coming to get you.”

“Is Hux okay?”

Rose quirks an eyebrow. 

“He’s fine,” Rose said, “Finn’s taking him to Leia. I’m fine, too, by the way. You're lucky these have steel toes, Dameron.”

“ _Why_?”

“Why what?”

“Why is Finn taking him to Leia?”

Rose shrugs.

“I don’t know. Leia told Finn to collect him. And I’ve come to collect you.”

“She wants to meet with me, too?”

“No,” Rose said, “But Finn said you’d want to tagalong, and he wanted to speak to Hux on the way, anyway, so I said I’d get you. I guess your ears were burning.”

“Finn wanted to speak to Hux?”

“That’s what he said,” Rose said, “C’mon. Let’s walk _and_ talk.”

“Lot of talking going on today,” Poe mutters, shoving the cigs back into his pocket.

“You’ll like this,” Rose said, “Did you know your boyfriend has been holding out on us?”

“I can’t speak for you, but he’s never held out on me. The opposite, actually.”

“Gross,” Rose said, with a frown, “No, I mean, did you know you the tracking systems he designed? Anyway, he’s just now _deigned_ to reveal that there’s a way of scrambling the system.”

“No more tracking?" Poe said.

“No more tracking,” Rose said, grinning, “You’ll be like smoke, falling through their grubby little hands. We think we can set up a false signal, too, send them in the opposite direction.”

“You’re excited,” Poe said. 

Rose’s smile was infectious, and temporarily, he’d forgotten that they were walking to a meeting that Poe apparently hadn’t been invited to. 

“It’ll be all hands on deck, getting it set up,” Rose said, “Think you can ground your pilots for a couple of days?” 

Poe nods as they halt outside Leia’s door. 

“We’ll talk later, OK?” Rose said, “Keep an eye on your damn comms.”

Poe doesn’t bother to knock, he’s already unwelcome, anyway, so he might as well double down on it.

“Ah, Poe,” Leia said, not at all brightly, “I wondered when you’d be joining us.”

“Thanks for waiting,” Poe said cheerfully, sitting down beside Hux.

“I’ll cut to the chase, shall I?” Leia said, “It seems that Republic have received news of our guest’s presence. There are some members of the government who have requested a meeting - ”

“No.” Poe interrupts, before Leia can continue and Hux can say anything at all. 

“I think it would be for the best, General Dameron,” Leia said.

The ‘General Dameron’ is clearly Leia-speak for ‘keep your opinions to yourself’, but Poe ignores it.

“We all know it would be irresponsible,” Poe said.

“And you’re known galactically for your responsibility,” Leia said. 

Hux cleared his throat. 

“It could be beneficial,” he started. 

“It’s obviously a set-up,” Poe said, “The only people who would benefit from it is them. He’s _helping us_ , General, that was the deal.”

Leia’s smile is very much strained. 

“You should consider it, Armitage,” she said, very pointedly looking at Hux. 

“You can’t speak to them,” Poe says, as they start to get up to leave. 

It’s only when Leia’s door closes behind them, that Poe realises how much Hux is glaring at him. 

“What?” He says. 

“You do not get to _forbid_ me to speak to anyone,” Hux said, “Even jumped up little bureaucrats who, and I’ll remind them, deigned to put saving their own lives first rather than preventing the alleged crime _I_ am accused of.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Poe said, “If they decide you…”

“If they decide I have not sufficiently self-flagellated for making a wartime decision they’ll want to pursue my punishment more explicitly?”

“Yeah, pretty much,” Poe said. 

“And what do you think will happen if I don’t? They will believe that you are hiding something.”

“I won’t let that happen.”

“I like that about you,” Hux said, touching Poe’s lips with his thumb, “Even when you lie you tell the truth.”

Poe cranes his neck up a little, and Hux kisses him softly.

“If you speak to them,” Poe says, “I want to be there.”

“I would insist on that,” Hux said. 

“You want to go for a cig?”

The weather outside is perfect, the exact kind Poe loves. 

It’s not too hot, especially not for midday, but it’s warm enough for bare arms, with a gentle breeze that stops the his shirt sticking to his back. 

Sitting in the sun was always the second surest way for Poe to feel instantly right with the galaxy. Maybe third, now, second to flying and being with Hux (which of those came first had tendency to cycle). 

What do you think the Republic wants to talk to me about?” 

“I don’t know. It’s still a bad idea.”

“I would’ve thought you’d want to show off how declawed I am,” Hux said, sulkily. 

He held out a cig for Poe to light.

“Yeah, you’re the one who’s been tamed,” Poe said, mostly under his breath. 

Hux gave him a half-hearted glare and returned to his cig.

The sun hits his hair just right, and Poe can’t really stop himself from brushing a strand away from Hux’s eyes. 

“Do you really think I’ll talk myself into a death sentence?” Hux said. 

“No,” Poe said, “I just don’t trust them. I’ve _worked_ for them. I know what they’re like. And so do you.” 

“What did Finn want to talk about?” 

“You should ask him that,” Hux said, “It really has very little to do with me.”

“He doesn’t like you,” Poe said, hearing the childish spite in his own voice. 

Just a few hours ago, he’d have killed for Hux and Finn to share a civil conversation. 

Just not when it meant keeping secrets from him. 

“Yes, he wasn’t particularly good at hiding his distaste,” Hux said, “However, he was perfectly polite and perfectly clear that it was a private conversation.” 

Poe drops it, lighting his own cig. 

He doubts Finn is doing this to purposefully drive him insane.

“Are you allowed to talk about your tracking-thingy or is that a big secret, too?” Poe said. 

“I didn’t think it would interest you,” Hux said. 

“Why wouldn’t it? They track _my_ pilots,” Poe said, “You invented the First Order tracking systems?”

“I helped improve on old technologies,” Hux said, “The new dummy system was Tico’s idea. And I don’t know how much help I’ll be, putting it into practice. I’m still not terribly acquainted with x-wings.”

“I’ll take you up in mine, one day,” Poe says.

Hux narrows his eyes.

“Don’t threaten me, Dameron, I haven’t misbehaved lately.”

“You don’t like flying, do you?”

“I can’t say I do,” Hux said. 

“It’d be different with me,” Poe said, “I’m a great pilot.”

“I know that. I’m just an awful passenger.”

“You weren’t that bad, last time,” Poe countered, half-heartedly. 

“I wasn’t really myself, was I? I barely remember it.”

“Ouch,” Poe says, “A guy is supposed to remember his first time.”

*

Hux was lying face down, and kept stretching and clicking the bones in his back. It was slightly distracting Poe from the trashy mystery novel he was reading. 

“What’s wrong?” Poe said.

“Stiff neck,” Hux said. 

“Want a massage?”

“I’m too tired for sex,” Hux said, “But if you really want to you can, if you’re quick about it and I don’t have to move.”

Poe laughed.

“I mean a literal massage,” Poe said.

“I don’t think I like them,” Hux said. 

“Have you had one?” Poe said. 

Hux didn’t answer, and so Poe sits up, discarding his novel (he might have led Hux to believe that he was working on the datapad, not wasting time - he’s not sure Hux has ever read for fun) Poe pushes his thumbs into Hux’s neck, rubbing for a few minutes gently, pushing harder when Hux doesn’t complain. 

Hux is near silent, which wasn’t the grateful, moaning sort of response that Poe had wanted, but he’s not swatting Poe away, either.

“Armitage?” Poe said, retracting his hands. 

“It’s never a good sign when you call me that,” Hux mumbles into the pillow. 

“Hux, then,” Poe said, “I want you to hear me out.”

Hux sighed, and finally turned to face Poe, red pillow lines on his pale face that Poe wanted to kiss. 

No, he couldn’t get distracted.

“Now, that is a bad sign.”

“Have you considered talking to someone?” 

“We are talking now, aren’t we?” 

“I meant to a counsellor.”

“ _No._ ”

Hux sits up, and Poe silently curses himself for ruining the moment. Again. 

“I started to see one after my mom died,” Poe said, “And sometimes still do, after a bad mission.”

“I don’t need to see anyone,” Hux said, “It’s been a long time since either of my parents died and I wasn’t close to them.”

“It’s not that,” Poe said, “It could help you…figure some things out about yourself.”

“I know myself all too well,” Hux said, “I don’t need a professional to tell me that I’m broken and heartless.”

“You’re not heartless,” Poe says, “It just happens to belong to me. And it’s not…you can be a little cold, sometimes, sure, but…it’s the control issues.”

“I do not have control issues.”

Poe almost laughs, but thinks better and clears his throat instead.

“Anxiety? Depression? Self-harm?” Poe said, “Anger?”

“No.”

“No you don’t have any issues?” 

Hux doesn’t answer. 

Poe decides to push the idea aside, for the time being, at least. 

“It was just a friendly suggestion,” Poe said, “Maybe you could take up a hobby. Something that’s not work.”

“Such as?”

“Journalling?” Poe said, and Hux snorted derisively, “You could learn to sew? Or knit.”

“I already know how.”

“To sew? Or knit?”

“Both.”

“Don’t tell me that _that_ is part of First Order officer training.”

“All cadets learn to take care of their uniforms, including proper repair,” Hux said, “And someone else taught me to knit.”

Poe doesn’t ask who, because he knows Hux would have told him if he was planning on answering that question.

“So, you can knit me some new socks, then,” Poe said.

He’d meant it as a joke but Hux gave him an oddly dark look.

“You could draw stuff that isn’t designed to blow other stuff up,” Poe tries.

“I drew your droid for Bran today,” Hux said, sounding irritated, “Doesn’t that count?”

“No, because obviously that kid is holding a blaster to your head to make you draw for him.”

“Well, it’s better than wasting my time attempting find some talent for mechanics in him.”

“Kriff, Hux,” Poe said, “He’s a kid.”

“And?”

“Just thought you’d know better than to…” Poe cuts himself off, brain catching up rapidly with his mouth. 

It was better not to steer the conversation too close to Hux’s father, especially as they’d successfully swerved two real arguments in as many days. 

Hux gives him a sideways glance. 

“I don’t mean to sound callous,” Hux said, “The child is simply not naturally inclined to mechanics, nor engineering, nor numeracy of any kind.”

“So? He’s got time.”

“He doesn’t enjoy it, either,” Hux said, “He is only there because he has to be with his elder sister.”

“Oh,” Poe said, “How do you know?”

Hux gave him an annoyed look.

“He told me,” Hux said, “I _am_ capable of holding conversations.”

“Right,” Poe says, “So, uh, no to the hobby then?” 

“Perhaps when we’re less busy,” Hux said, leaning back on his elbows, “We should both sleep. You’re in charge tomorrow, General Dameron.” 

“ _You’re_ helping?”

Hux’s face falls.

“I can stay in the workshop - ”

“No, no, I want you there,” Poe says, quickly, and truthfully, “I’m just surprised.”

“Tico thought I might be of some use,” Hux said.

“It’s your plans,” Poe said, “It makes sense that you help.”

*

Poe’s not in his office for two seconds when Hux saunters in after him. He’s sure, for a couple of seconds, that Hux is about to complain about having to work with a non-human. 

Poe supposes it was maybe tempting fate to pair poor Plzlo up with Hux, but Plzlo is probably the most laid back guy he has, the least likely to start an argument, and also the least likely to rise to any snide comments. 

Hux, however, doesn’t complain, just closes the door behind him. 

“Didn’t have you down as work-shy,” Poe said. 

“I’m taking a break,”

“Didn’t know you knew what one was.”

“I’m embracing the Resistance work ethic,” Hux said, “It was very attractive, seeing you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Being their commander,” Hux said.

“Not yours?”

“Are you mine?” 

“Depends in which way you mean it,” Poe says, and Hux stalks past him in a way that looks particularly feline, closing the blinds behind Poe’s head.

“They’ll get suspicious,” Poe said, “Us in here, blinds closed.”

“They won’t believe you’re with me,” Hux said, “I’m hardly up to your standards. At the very most they might think you feel sorry for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, I’m not ugly but I’m not particularly good-looking, either,” Hux said, “Not like you are.”

Poe laughs, can’t stop himself from it.

“You’re taking the self-pity thing a bit far now, Hugs,” Poe said. 

“Excuse me?”

“You’ve got to have heard about the way some of your little reporting officers talked about you?”

Poe doubted all of it would count as particularly flattering, especially to someone like Hux, but he had overheard more than one of Hux’s subordinates talk about what they’d like to do to him. 

“All I’ve heard is what an uptight bastard I am,” Hux said.

Poe laughs again, and Hux’s frown deepens.

“Are you making fun of me?”

“No,” Poe said, “I’m just saying. I heard a lot of stuff about pretty lips and those sharp cheekbones of yours.”

He leaves out the part where they had described exactly where they’d wanted the General’s pretty lips and how it might actually shut him up.

It was silly, really. 

Nothing could shut Hux up. 

He was pouting now. 

“No-one thought of me like that,” Hux said. 

“Well, you kept the mind-reading thing secret for a long time, didn’t you?” Poe said, “Mitaka had a crush on you.”

“Oh, don’t be _absurd,_ ” Hux said, looking slightly angry as well as embarrassed. 

“It’s true,” Poe said, “And I thought you came in here for a reason?”

“Before you started - ”

“I didn’t start anything, Hugs,” Poe said, “I have lube in my desk draw.” 

“You keep lube in your draw?” Hux said, successfully distracted. 

“For emergencies.”

“I was just going to give you a blow job,” Hux said, “You at your desk, in your office, where generals should be. And me beneath you, on my knees, where _I_ should be.” 

Poe sits in his chair, spins from side to side. 

“You should be?” Poe said. 

“Just a lowly mechanic,” Hux said, “But I’m not very good at it.”

Hux leans against Poe’s desk, facing him, head to one side, expectant. 

“But I promise I’m better at sucking dick than I am at fixing x-wings,” Hux said, “Sir.” 

“We really shouldn’t,” Poe said, looking at the door that didn’t lock behind Hux. 

“If you say so,” Hux said, eyes unsubtly drifting Poe’s crotch. 

He smirks and straightens out, slowly. 

“I didn’t say no,” Poe said. 

Hux slinks to his knees without another word, his hands running up Poe’s thigh almost painfully slow.

*

Hux leaves Poe’s refresher looking perfectly well kempt, like nothing at all had happened between them. 

“You know, if I tried to do that to you when you were working, you’d kill me,” Poe said. 

Hux shrugs. 

“Well, I’m not you and you’re not me,” Hux said, “I should get back.” 

“Do you want to get away from the base?” Poe blurts.

“Now?”

“No,” Poe said, “Just, for a night?”

“I thought Organa forbade it,” Hux said, both eyebrows raised, “And I am not getting into your x-wing of my own accord.”

“No, I don’t mean leave the planet. We could camp? Have you been camping before?”

“Under duress.”

Poe smiled.

“One night? Me, you and BB-8?” 

“You want a threesome with your droid?”

Poe hits Hux’s arm softly. 

“No, I want to sleep under the stars with you,” Poe said, “There’s going to be a couple of clear nights before stormy season.”

“I suppose it might be nice,” Hux said, with a weak smile at Poe, “And I suppose I should get back to work.”

“Yeah,” Poe said, “As your commanding officer, I really think you _should_ go back to work.”

*

The day after they’re finished installing the new targeting systems, Poe packs them up a backpack while Hux visits Dr Kalonia.

BB-8 is probably more excited about the trip than Hux, spinning around Poe as he packs and almost tripping him up at least five times, until it’s finally time for them to leave. 

“How’d it go with Kalonia?” 

“I’m as healthy as bordok with a heart condition,” Hux said, and Poe laughs while BB beeps with concern.

“It’s no matter, BB,” Hux said, “Certainly not for a droid to worry about.”

BB-8 protested at the idea of being just a droid, but rolls along next to Hux happily. 

It’s not a long hike to the clearing that Poe had visited a handful of times, once with his father when he’d first moved to base and a couple of other times with some of the other pilots (it hits him, suddenly, how many of them have died since their first trip). 

It takes about two hours and Poe is a little forlorn that Hux didn’t need more help coping with the hike as they easily make their way through the jungle. 

He knew Hux was fairly fit for someone who smoked nearly twenty cigs a day, a former stim habit, never slept, barely ate and had a literal hole in his heart, but he _was_ shockingly graceful when it came to dodging fallen tree trunks. 

“Want to help collect firewood?” Poe said, dumping his backpack on the ground as they reach the clearing.

“Not really, no,” Hux said, sitting on a log, “I thought I’d let you do it, as you were so keen on coming.”

“I always thought you were supposed to be polite,” 

“Incorrect assumption,” Hux said, “I just sound polite, because of my accent.” 

“Wish you’d told me that sooner.” 

BB-8 offers to help collect firewood, but it’s not a task he’s really built for and he causes more problems than he solves. 

It does do him good to make him feel like he’s helping, however, so Poe allows it. 

Hux _does_ help actually build and light the fire, though he makes sure to complain about it to Poe, as well as the inefficiency of fire as a source of heat at all. 

“There’s a reason buildings and ships were invent,” He said, more than once. 

“Ovens, too,” he added, once he’d decided that they’d been waiting too long for their food to cook over the fire. 

Poe had made vegetable kebab sticks before leaving, hadn’t quite planned for uneven cooking times. 

While they are waiting, he fumbles with his mom’s necklace. 

“Hux,” he says, trying to sound very nonchalant, like he’s not been waiting all day for this, he holds it out. 

Hux shakes his head. 

“I can’t take that from you,” Hux said, “It means too much to you.”

“You mean a lot to me,” Poe said, “I want you to have it. Even if you don’t want to get married, it’s symbolic.” 

He rolls up his sleeve to show off the bracelet he’d made from the pebble. Hux runs his fingers along it.

“You gave this to me, I wear it,” Poe said, “I give this to you, you wear it.”

Poe catches Hux’s smile, even if Hux tries to hide it.

“It’s how I knew I loved you,” Poe said. 

“What?” Hux said.

“I thought I did, you know, and I told you I did,” Poe said, “But I kind of hoped it was just an infatuation. Then when I got back here and found out you actually _had_ sent it back, I knew I really loved you. And that you loved me.”

“ _I_ hadn’t decided whether I loved you or not,” Hux said.

“Yeah, well, for a smart guy, you’re kinda dense,” Poe said, ignoring the loving glare from Hux, “Why else would you risk it?”

“Self-sabotage,” Hux said. 

Poe holds out the necklace to him again.

With some obvious reluctance, Hux lets Poe place it in his open palm.

“It’s not that I don’t want it,” Hux said, “I don’t want for you to have to ask for it back.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Poe said. 

“We argue every day,” Hux said. 

“I’m gonna let you in on a secret: I never argue with people I don’t love.” Poe said, “So, is this yes to a proposal, too?” 

“Yes,” Hux said, “I suppose it is.”

They settle down under the stars after eating. Neither of them is really tired, but it’s nice to lie out in the open on their backs, looking up at the stars, BB-8 just off to the left off them, occasionally beeping at them when he feels like it has been too long since they’d made him any mind. 

Hux shivers, even as he’s closer to the fire and wrapped in a blanket.

“Gonna move closer, baby, or are you trying to freeze?”

“Oh, _another_ awful nickname,” Hux said, shifting closer to Poe in the dark, mercilessly taking some of Poe’s blanket as well as his own.

“You don’t like ‘baby?’”

“On account of not being an infant, no,”

“What can I call you?”

“My name perhaps,” Hux said.

“Hux or _Armitage_?”

“Point taken,” Hux said, grumpily.

He heard Hux sigh. It was too dark and he was in the wrong position to see, but he could clearly imagine the look on Hux’s face. Little lines between his eyes, lips fixed into straight and impatient line.

“What did…Phasma call you? She was your friend, wasn’t she?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Hux said, but he didn’t sound convinced, “She called me Armitage, mostly. But to her my father was always Hux.” 

“What did he call you?”

“Just ‘boy’ if anything at all. Occasionally Armitage or Cadet.”

_Stars, your Dad was a dick_ , Poe thinks, then vocalises, which makes Hux laugh in the sad way. 

“You know, if you wanted, you could be Armitage Dameron-Hux. Or Armitage Hux-Dameron? I could be Poe Dameron-Hux. That sounds good.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don’t want my name. All anyone would ever think of is Starkiller.”

“I don’t care what other people think,” Poe said, “I thought we’d established that. Do you have a middle name?”

“No. It’s a miracle my father gave me any name at all. Do you?”

“My mom’s surname,” Poe said, “So it’s Poe Bey Dameron. Maybe Poe Bey Dameron-Hux is a bit of a mouthful…”

“That _is_ ridiculous. You don’t need to take my name. It has a lot of weight. _I_ never even liked it.” 

“You could just be Armitage Dameron, if you wanted. Well. It’s a mouthful,” Poe said, and then frowned at him, “ _You_ don’t have to take my name, if that’s what you’ve been hinting at.”

“No,” Hux said, “It’s just…”

“What?”

“Your father wouldn’t mind? Surely it’s bad enough you’re marrying a war criminal. He wouldn’t want me having his name.” 

Poe felt weaker all of a sudden, and moved closer, putting a hand on Hux’s shoulder, who hadn’t quite gotten over initially flinching, but soon warmed to him and let himself fall into the touch. 

“He won’t mind. If he did…then, well. It wouldn’t matter. It’s not just his name. It’s my name, too. And then it can be our name. We can’t let our fathers have dominion over our own names. Hux can be your name. It doesn’t have to have anything to do with _him_. Its meaning can change.” 

“I like Hux-Dameron,” Hux said, quietly, “If it’s acceptable with you.”

“More than acceptable, I love it,” Poe said, “I love you.”

“And you as well,” Hux said. 

Poe snorted. 

“I’ve agreed to go on a mission for a couple of days,” Poe said, “It’s nothing dangerous - ”

“Good,” Hux said. 

“Good?” 

“Good, it’s not dangerous, and good, you’ll stop moping about base on my account.”

Poe moves as close to Hux as he can get, snaking his arm beneath Hux’s neck. It’s not the wisest move, because it’s not long until his arm goes numb, but despite that despite the relative discomfort of the floor, it’s the best sleep he’s had in weeks. 

*

Poe knows the second he lands that there is something up. He gets strange looks as he makes his way out of the hangar, and starts to hot-foot it to Rose’s workshop, his first and foremost fear that something is wrong with Hux.

He knew he shouldn’t have gone away, even if was barely three cycles.

He doesn’t get far when Finn intercepts him.

“Control room,” Finn says, “It’s important.”

“Hux - ”

“It’s about him,” Finn said, hand on Poe’s shoulder.

“Is he okay?”

“Sure,” Finn said, sounding unsure, “Let’s go.”

Poe enters the control room, and realises that everyone except him knows exactly what is going on the second he does. 

A man, short and balding, is stood next to Leia. 

Poe only vaguely recognises him.

Cren-something, who, as a commander Poe could get away with not knowing, but as a general probably should know. 

A senator? 

No, that didn’t sound right. Something bureaucratically important and bureaucratically boring.

He’d ask Hux. 

“Where is Hux?” He asks Leia, ignoring the smirk the newcomer is giving him. 

“He volunteered, Poe,” Leia said, answering the question Poe hadn’t asked yet.

“Where is he?”

“He’s helping Rey with a mission,” Leia said. 

“You’re being coy, General,” Poe said, “What has he volunteered for? And _why_?”

“I have to say, I had the same question,” Cren said, “General Hux is known psychopath. It’s not in his usual purview to volunteer for the right thing…”

“Who _is_ this asshole?” Poe said to Leia, who gives him her final-warning look. 

“This is the one who brought him in?” Cren said, and Leia nodded, “Hux has gone back to the First Order.” 

“They’ll _kill_ him,” Poe said, “You can’t let this happen - ”

“It’s all been planned, Poe,” Leia said, “Rey is with him. Snoke wants her, and there’s a price on Hux’s head. Rey turning him in to the Order will be seen as proof as her changing loyalty - ”

“And if your vicious little dog happens to die, all the better,” Cren said. 

Poe loses his temper. He’s not lost it like this since he was fifteen or sixteen.

He’s sure for a second, that Finn could’ve got to him before he got to Cren, even if he simply ran at the same time, without the use of the force, but Finn only pulls him off after he’s landed a good punch right in the middle of Cren’s face.

“Finn,” Leia says, “Will you take General Dameron to calm himself down?”

“Glad to leave,” Poe spits out over his shoulder as Finn steers him from the room. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Finn says, as they get outside. 

Poe could really do with a cig, but he left them with Hux. 

He makes do with picking the bark of the tree, for something to do with his hands that isn’t punching concrete.

He’s not ashamed of crying, but he keeps his back turned on Finn as he tries to pull himself together.

“Why _didn’t_ you?”

“Look, I only found out two cycles ago,” Finn said, “You can take it up with Leia, Hux, and that creep Crenthorp.”

“They’re using him as collateral,”

“He didn’t have to do this,” Finn said, “No-one made him.”

Finn fumbles in his pocket, and holds his necklace to him. 

“He said he’s coming back,” Finn said, “But you should have it, in case he doesn’t.”

Poe feels like hitting something again, but concentrates on deep, slow breaths instead. 

Poe slips down onto the floor and runs his hands through his hair.

“I thought he was settling in,” Poe said, “Is this what you were talking to him about?”

“No. I just said, I only found out about this plan two days ago. Even Rey didn’t tell me,” Finn said, “But it’s a part of it, now, I guess.”

“How?”

“I was talking to Hux about the Stormtrooper programme,” Finn said, “The conditioning process, mostly. How it could be broken.” 

“Why?”

“I can get through to them,” Finn said, “Not all of them, according to Hux, he was kind of an asshole about that part, but I know I can get some of them to break through like I did.”

“Okay,” Poe says, putting the necklace over his head, and standing up, “Tell me the whole plan.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot I don't like about this chapter. I've kind of been avoiding posting it for a while, but it's necessary to get to where I want to go. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! I really, truly appreciate everyone who reads, comments and leaves kudos!


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